'  *3pp«  '?JP% 

WHACS 

Mai  •  IIMB^BB    MBBBI         .^••^      •^•••k. 

m.  ^F    A    ^^^  '^^^  Jr^  ^.^^ 

CH6  MACC6R 


^ICH  IReLAND 


;'  L~      : 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH 
IRELAND? 


What's  the  Matter 
with  Ireland? 

By  RUTH  RUSSELL 


NEW  YORK 
THE  DEVIN-ADAIR  CO. 


COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BY 
THE  DEVIN-ADAIK  Co. 

All  rights  reserved  by 
THE  DEVIN-ADAIR  Co. 


STACK 
ANNEX 

bA. 


TO  MY 

MOTHER 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.    WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRE- 
LAND?       17 

II.     SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION.,  . ...     55 

III.  IRISH  LABOR  AND  CLASS  REVOLU- 

TION       83 

IV.  AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION  .......   101 

V.     THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  COM- 
MUNISM   ., 125 

VI.     WHAT  ABOUT  BELFAST?.. 


ELECTRO  GOVERNMENT 

Of 

THE  REPUBLIC  OF   IRELAND 

(AMERICAN  DELEGATION) 


January  29,  1920. 


Miss  Ruth  'Russell, 
Chicago,  Illinois. 


DEAR  Miss  RUSSELL: 

I  have  read  the  advance  copy  of  your  book, 
"What's  the  Matter  with  Ireland?",  with  much 
interest. 

I  congratulate  you  on  the  rapidity  with  which 
you  succeeded  in  understanding  Irish  condi- 
tions and  grasped  the  Irish  viewpoint. 

I  hope  your  book  will  be  widely  read.  .Your 
first  chapter  will  be  instructive  to  those  who 
have  been  deceived  by  the  recent  cry  of  Irish 
prosperity.  Cries  of  this  sort  are  echoed  with- 
out thought  as  to  their  truth,  and  gain  cre- 
dence as  they  pass  from  mouth  to  mouth.  I 
hope  we  shall  have  many  more  impartial  inves- 

[91 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

tigators,  such  as  you,  who  will  take  the  trouble 
to  see  things  for  themselves  first  hand,  and  who 
will  not  be  imposed  upon  by  half-truths. 

Having  visited  Ireland,  I  feel  you  cannot 
doubt  that  the  poet  was  right — 

"There  never  was  a  nation  yet 
Could  rule  another  well." 

I  imagine,  too,  that  having  seen  the  charac- 
ter of  British  rule  there,  you  must  realize  bet- 
ter than  before  what  it  was  your  American 
patriots  of  '76  hastened  to  rid  themselves  of. 
In  a  country  with  such  natural  resources  as 
Ireland,  can  you  believe  it  possible  that  if  gov- 
ernment by  the  people  obtained  there  could  be 
such  conditions  of  unemployment  and  misery  as 
you  found? 

Do  you  not  think  that  if  the  elected  Govern- 
ment of  the  Republic  were  left  unhampered  by 
foreign  usurpation,  we  might  in  the  coming 
years  hope  to  rival  the  boast  of  Lord  Clare  in 
1798: 

[10] 


WHATS  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELANDf 

"There  is  not  a  nation  on  the  face  of  the 
habitable  globe  which  has  advanced  in  culti- 
vation, in  manufactures,  with  the  same  rapid- 
ity in  the  same  period  as  Ireland — from  1782 
to  1798." 

and  that  progress  like  this,  with  the  present 
social  outlook  in  Ireland,  would  mean  the  peace, 
contentment  and  happiness  of  millions  of  hu- 
man beings? 

Yours  very  truly, 

(Signed)  EAMON  DE  VALE'RA. 


["1 


FOREWORD 

"AND  tell  us  what  is  the  matter  with  Ireland." 
This  was  the  last  injunction  a  fellow  jour- 
nalist, propagandized  into  testy  impatience  with 
Ireland,  gave  me  before  I  sailed  for  that  bit  of 
Europe  which  lies  closest  to  America. 

It  became  perfectly  obvious  that  Ireland  was 
poor;  poor  to  ignorance,  poor  to  starvation, 
poor  to  insanity  and  death.  And  that  the 
cause  of  her  poverty  is  her  exploitation  by  the 
world  capitalist  next  door  to  her. 

In  Ireland  there  is  no  disagreement  as  to  the 
cause  of  her  poverty.  There  is  very  little  dif- 
ference as  to  the  best  remedy — three-fourths 
of  Ireland  have  expressed  their  belief  that  the 
country  can  live  only  as  a  republic.  Even  the 
two  great  forces  in  Ireland  that  are  said  to  be 
for  the  status  quo,  I  found  in  active  sympathy 
with  the  republican  cause.  In  the  Catholic 
Church  the  young  priests  are  eager  workers 

[13] 


FOREWORD 

for  Sinn  Fein,  and  in  Ulster  the  laborers  are 
backing  their  leaders  in  a  plea  for  self-deter- 
mination. But  there  are,  of  course,  those  who 
say  that  a  republic  is  not  enough.  In  the  cities 
where  poverty  is  blackest,  there  are  those  who 
state  that  the  new  republic  must  be  a  workers' 
republic.  In  the  villages  and  country  places 
where  the  co-operative  movement  is  growing 
strong,  there  are  those  who  believe  that  the 
new  republic  must  be  a  co-operative  common- 
wealth. 


[14] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH 
IRELAND? 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH 
IRELAND? 

OUT  OF  A  JOB 

Is  IRELAND  poor  ?  I  decided  to  base  my  answer 
to  that  question  on  personal  investigation.  I 
dressed  myself  as  a  working  girl — it  is  to  the 
working  class  that  seven-eighths  of  the  Irish 
people  belong — and  in  a  week  in  the  slums  of 
Dublin  I  found  that  lack  of  employment  is  con- 
tinually driving  the  people  to  migration,  low- 
wage  slavery,  or  acceptance  of  charity. 

At  the  woman's  employment  bureau  of  the 
ministry  of  munitions,  I  discovered  that  50,000 
Irish  boys  and  girls  are  annually  sent  to  the 
English  harvests,  and  that  during  the  war  there 
were  80,000  placements  in  the  English  muni- 
tion factories. 

"But  I  don't  want  to  leave  home,"  I  heard 
a  little  ex-fusemaker  say  as  we  stood  in  queues 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

at  the  chicken-wire  hatch  in  the  big  bare  room 
turned  over  by  the  ministry  of  munitions  for 
the  replacement  of  women  who  had  worked  on 
army  supplies.  Her  voice  trembled  with  the 
uncertainty  of  one  who  knew  she  could  not 
dictate. 

"Then  you've  got  to  be  a  servant/'  said  the 
direct  young  woman  at  the  hatch.  "There's 
nothing  left  in  Ireland  but  domestic  jobs." 

"Isn't — you  told  me  there  might  be  some- 
thing in  Belfast?" 

"Linen  mills  are  on  part  time  now — no 
chance.  There's  only  one  place  for  good  jobs 
now — that's  across  the  channel." 

The  little  girl  bit  her  lip.  She  shook  her 
head  and  went  out  the  rear  exit  provided  for 
ex-war  workers.  Together  we  splashed  into 
the  broken-bricked  alley  that  was  sloppy  with 
melting  spring  sleet. 

"Maybe  she  doesn't  know  everything,"  said 
the  little  girl,  fingering  a  religious  medal  that 
shone  beneath  her  brown  muffler.  "Maybe 

[18] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

some  one's  dropped  out.    Let's  say  a  prayer." 

Through  the  cutting  sleet  we  bent  our  way 
to  Dublin's  largest  factory — a  plant  where 
1,000  girls  are  employed  at  what  are  the  best 
woman's  wages  in  Dublin,  $4.50  to  $10  a  week. 

"You  gotta  be  pretty  brassy  to  ask  for  work 
here,"  said  the  little  girl.  "Everybody  wants 
to  work  here.  But  you  can't  get  anything  un- 
less you're  b-brassy,  can  you?" 

We  entered  a  big- windowed,  red-bricked  fac- 
tory, and  in  response  to  our  timid  application, 
a  black-clad  woman  shook  her  head  wearily. 
Down  a  puddly,  straw-strewn  lane  we  were 
blown  to  one  of  the  factories  next  in  size — a 
fifty  to  100  hand  factory  is  considered  big  in 
Dublin.  The  sign  on  the  door  was  scrawled: 

"No  Hands  Wanted." 

But  in  the  courage  of  companionship  we 
mounted  the  black,  narrow-treaded  wooden 
stairs  to  a  box-littered  room  where  white- 
aproned  girls  were  nailing  candy  containers  to- 
gether. While  we  waited  for  the  manager  to 

[19] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

come  out,  we  stood  with  bowed  heads  so  that 
the  sleet  could  pool  off  our  hats,  and  through 
a  big  crack  in  the  plank  floor  we  could  see  hard 
red  candies  swirling  below.  Suddenly  we  heard 
a  voice  and  looked  up  to  see  the  ticking-aproned 
manager  spluttering: 

"Well,  can't  you  read?" 

Up  in  a  loft-like,  saw-dusty  room  where 
girls  were  stuffing  dolls  and  daubing  red  paint 
on  china  cheeks,  an  excited  manager  declared 
he  was  losing  his  own  job.  The  new  woman's 
trade  union  league  wanted  him  to  pay  more 
than  one  dollar  a  week  to  his  girls.  He  would 
show  the  union  his  books.  Wasn't  it  better  to 
have  some  job  than  none  at  all? 

Down  the  wet  street,  now  glinting  blindingly 
in  the  late  sun,  we  walked  into  a  grubby  little 
tea  shop  for  a  sixpenny  pot  of  tea  between  us. 
Out  of  my  pocket  I  pulled  a  wage  list  of  well- 
paying,  imagination-stirring  jobs  in  England. 
There  were  all  sorts  of  jobs  from  toy-making 
at  $8.25  a  week  to  glass-blowing  at  $20.  On 

[20] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

the  face  of  the  little  girl  as  she  told  me  that 
she  would  meet  me  at  the  ministry  of  muni- 
tions the  next  morning  there  was  a  look  of 
worried  indecision. 

That  night  along  Gloucester  street,  past  the 
Georgian  mansion  houses  built  before  the 
union  of  Ireland  and  England — great,  flat- 
faced,  uprising  structures  behind  whose  verdi- 
grised  knockers  and  shattered  door  fans  conies 
the  murmur  of  tenements — I  walked  till  I 
came  to  a  much  polished  brass  plate  lettered 
"St.  Anthony's  Working  Girls'  Home." 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  England?"  was  the 
first  question  the  matron  put  to  me  when  I  told 
her  that  I  could  get  no  factory  work.  "All  the 
girls  are  going." 

In  the  stone-flagged  cellar  the  girls  were 
cooking  their  individual  dinners  at  a  stove  deep 
set  in  the  stone  wall.  A  big,  curly-haired  girl 
was  holding  bread  on  a  fork  above  the  red 
coals. 

"Last  time  I  got  lonesome,"  she  was  admfr- 
[211 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

ting.  "But  the  best  parlor  maid  job  here  is 
$60  a  year.  And  over  at  Basingstoke  in  Eng- 
land I've  one  waiting  for  me  at  $150  a  year. 
If  you  want  to  live  nowadays  I  suppose  you've 
gotta  be  lonesome." 

Next  day  at  the  alley  of  the  employment 
bureau,  I  met  the  little  girl  of  the  day  before. 
She  said  a  little  dully: 

"Well,  I  took — shirt-making — Edinburgh.'' 

Instead  of  migrating,  a  girl  may  marry.  But 
her  husband  in  most  cases  can't  make  enough 
money  to  support  a  family.  To  keep  an  aver- 
age family  of  five,  just  going,  on  food  alone, 
costs  $370  a  year.  Some  farm  hands  get  only 
$100.  An  average  unskilled  worker  obtains 
$260  a  year.  An  organized  unskilled  worker 
receives  $367,  and  an  organized  skilled  worker, 
$539.  Therefore,  if  a  girl  marries,  she  has  not 
only  to  bear  children  but  to  go  out  to  work  be- 
side. Their  constant  toil  makes  the  women  of 
Ireland  something  less  than  well-cared-for 
slaves. 

[22] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

Take  the  mother  in  Dublin.  In  Dublin  there 
have  long  been  too  many  casual  laborers.  One- 
third  of  Dublin's  population  of  300,000  are  in 
this  class.  Now,  while  wages  for  some  sorts  of 
casual  labor  like  dock  work  increased  during 
the  war,  it  has  become  almost  impossible  for 
Dublin  laborers  to  get  a  day's  job.  For  the 
unemployed  are  flocking  for  the  good  wages 
from  the  four  fields  of  Ireland.  On  the  days 
the  man  is  out  of  work  the  woman  must  go 
out  to  wash  or  "char."  I  understood  these  con- 
ditions better  after  I  spent  a  night  in  a  typical 
one-room  home  in  the  dockers'  quarters  near 
the  Liffey. 

Widow  Hannan  was  my  hostess.  The  widow 
is  a  strong,  black-haired  young  woman  who 
took  an  active  part  in  the  rebellion  of  1916, 
and  whose  husband  was  killed  fighting  under 
James  Connolly.  We  slept  in  the  first  floor 
front.  In  with  the  widow  lay  her  three  chil- 
dren, and  in  the  cot  catty-corner  from  the  bed 
I  was  bunked.  Just  when  the  night  air  was 

[23] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

thinning  to  gray  there  was  a  shattering  rap  on 
the  ground-level  window.  The  half -dressed 
young  factory  daughter  clambered  over  the 
others  and  ripped  down  the  rain  coat  that 
served  as  a  night-time  window  curtain. 
Against  the  square-paned  window  was  hunched 
a  forward-shouldered  woman. 

As  she  was  being  beckoned  to  the  door,  I 
rose,  and  to  do  my  hair  had  to  wedge  myself  in 
between  the  breakfast-table  and  the  filmy  mir- 
ror that  hung  among  the  half-tone  pictures  of 
the  rebels  of  1916.  On  the  iron  mantel,  gray 
with  coal  dust,  there  was  a  family  comb. 

"God  save  all  here,"  said  the  neighbor  en- 
tering. "Mary,  himself 's  had  no  work  for  four 
days.  Keep  the  young  ones  out  of  the  grate 
for  me.  I've  got  to  go  out  washing." 

"My  sister-in-law  has  a  husband  and  seven 
children  to  support,"  said  the  widow  in  expla- 
nation to  me.  "During  the  war,  he  could  do 
with  her  going  out  just  once  in  a  while — now 
it's  all  the  time."  Then  to  the  sister-in-law: 
"I've  a  wash  myself  today." 

[24! 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

The  big  shoes  that  must  once  have  belonged 
to  the  visitor's  man,  hit  the  floor  loosely  as  she 
walked  slowly  out.  Then  as  lodger  I  was  given 
the  only  chair  at  the  breakfast-table.  The 
mother  and  girl  sat  at  a  plank  bench  and  supped 
their  tea  from  their  saucerless  cups.  As  there 
was  no  place  else  to  sit,  the  children  took  their 
bread  and  jam  as  they  perched  on  the  bed,  and 
when  they  finished,  surreptitiously  wiped  their 
fingers  on  the  brown-covered  hay  mattress.  Be- 
fore we  were  through,  they  had  run  to  the 
street  and  back  to  warm  their  cold  legs  inside 
the  fender  till  the  floor  was  tracked  with  mud 
from  the  street,  ashes  from  the  grate,  and  bits 
of  crumbled  bread. 

In  the  evening  I  heard  the  murmur  of  revo- 
lution. With  the  shawled  mothers  who  line  the 
lane  on  a  pleasant  evening,  I  stood  between 
the  widow  and  a  twenty-year-old  girl  who  held 
her  tiny  blind  baby  in  her  arms.  Across  the 
narrow  street  with  its  water-filled  gutters, 

[25] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

barefoot  children  in  holey  sweaters  or  with 
burlap  tied  about  their  shoulders,  slapped  their 
feet  as  they  jigged,  or  jumped  at  hop-scotch. 
Back  of  them  in  typical  Dublin  decay  rose  the 
stables  of  an  anciently  prosperous  shipping  con- 
cern; in  the  v  dip  of  the  roofless  walls,  spiky 
grass  grew  and  through  the  barred  windows 
the  wet  gray  sky  was  slotted.  Suddenly  the 
girl-mother  spoke: 

"Why,  there's  himself  coming  back,  Mary. 
See  him  turning  up  from  the  timber  on  the 
quay.  There  was  sorrow  in  his  eyes  like  the 
submarine  times  when  he  came  to  tell  me  no 
boat  docked  this  morning.  Baby  or  no  baby, 
I'll  have  to  get  work  for  myself,  for  he's  not 
given  me  a  farthing  for  a  fortnight." 

A  big  Danish-looking  chap  was  homing 
towards  the  door.  Without  meeting  the  girl's 
eyes,  he  slunk  into  the  doorway.  His  broad 
shoulders  sagged  under  his  sun-faded  coat,  and 
he  blocked  the  light  from  the  glassless  window 
on  the  staircase  as  he  disappeared.  When  he 

[26] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

slouched  out  again  his  hand  dropped  from  his 
hip  pocket. 

"It's  to  drill  he's  going."  The  young  mother 
snugged  her  shawl  in  more  tightly  about  her 
baby.  Then  she  said  with  a  little  break  in  her 
voice:  "Oh,  it's  very  pleasant,  just  this,  with 
the  girls  jigging  and  rattling  their  legs  of  a 
spring  evening." 

A  girl's  voice  defiantly  telling  a  soldier  that 
if  he  didn't  wear  his  civvies  when  he  came  to 
call  he  needn't  come  at  all,  rose  clearly  from 
a  dark  doorway.  A  lamplighter  streaked  yel- 
low flame  into  the  square  lamp  hanging  from 
the  stone  shell  opposite.  A  jarvey,  hugging  a 
bundle  of  hay,  drove  his  horse  clankingly  over 
the  cobblestones.  Then  grimly  came  the  whis- 
per of  the  widow  of  the  rebellion  close  to  my 
ear: 

"Oh,  we'll  have  enough  in  the  army  this 
time." 

Difficult  as  the  Irish  worker's  fight  is,  the 
[27] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND?, 

able  person  is  loath  to  give  up  and  accept  char- 
ity. But  whether  she  wants  to  or  not,  if  she 
can't  find  work  she  must  go  to  the  poorhouse. 
Before  the  war  it  was  estimated  that  over  one- 
half  the  inmates  of  the  Irish  workhouses  were 
employable.  During  the  war,  when  there  were 
more  jobs  than  usual  to  be  had,  there  was  a 
great  exodus  from  the  hated  poorhouse ;  there 
was  a  drop  in  workhouse  wards  from  400,000 
to  250,000.  But  now  jobs  are  getting  less  again 
and  there  is  a  melancholy  return  back  over  the 
hills  to  the  poorhouse. 

Night  refuges,  I  found,  are  the  last  stage  in 
this  journey.  There,  with  every  day  out  of 
work,  women  become  more  unemployable — 
clothes  and  constitutions  wear  out;  minds  lose 
hope  in  effort  and  rely  on  luck.  As  I  sat  with 
a  tableful  of  charwomen  and  general  house- 
work girls  in  a  refuge  in  Dublin,  I  read  two 
ads  from  the  paper.  One  offered  a  job  for  a 
general  servant  with  wages  at  $50  a  year.  The 
other  ran :  "Wanted :  a  strong  humble  general 

[28] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

housework  girl  to  live  out;  $1.25  a  week."  I 
put  the  choice  up  to  the  table. 

"If  you  haven't  anybody  of  your  own  to  live 
with,"  advised  a  husky-voiced,  mufflered  girl 
next  me  as  she  warmed  her  fingers  about  her 
mug  of  tea  and  regarded  me  from  under  her 
cotton  velvet  hat  with  some  suspicion,  "you 
should  get  the  job  living  with  the  family.  It 
takes  five  dollars  a  week  to  live  by  yourself." 
Then  forestalling  a  protest  she  added:  "You'll 
get  two  early  evenings  off — at  eight  o'clock." 

"Whatever  you  get,  don't  let  it  go."  A  bird- 
faced  woman  leaned  over  the  table  so  that 
the  green  black  plume  of  her  charity  bonnet 
wagged  across  the  center  of  the  table.  With 
her  little  warning  eyes  still  on  my  face  she  set- 
tled back  impressively.  As  she  extracted  a 
half  sheet  of  newspaper  from  under  her  beaded 
cape  and  furtively  wrapped  up  one  of  the  two 
"hunks"  of  bread  that  each  refugee  got,  she 
continued:  "Once  I  gave  up  a  place  because 
they  let  me  have  just  potatoes  and  onions  for 

[29] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

dinner.  No,  hold  on  to  whatever  you  get — 
whatever."  And  after  we  had  night  prayers 
that  were  so  long  drawn  out  that  someone 
moaned:  "Do  they  want  to  scourge  us  with 
praying?",  the  old  charwoman  repeated  the 
hopeless  words :  "Hold  on  to  whatever  you  get 
— whatever." 

In  the  pale  gold  light  that  flooded  through 
the  windows  of  the  sixty-bed  dormitory,  the 
women  turned  down  the  mussed  toweling  sheets 
from  the  bolsters  across  the  reddish  gray 
spreads. 

"My  clothes  dried  on  me  after  the  rain,  and 
I  do  be  coughing  till  my  chest  is  sore,"  said 
the  girl  who  had  sat  next  me  at  the  table  and 
was  next  me  in  the  sleeping  room.  "There  was 
too  many  at  the  dispensary  to  wait." 

Out  of  a  sagging  pocket  in  her  creased  mack- 
intosh she  took  a  clothes  brush.  She  slipped 
her  skirt  from  under  her  coat  and  with  her 
blue-cold  hand  passed  the  flat  brush  back  and 
forth  over  the  muddy  hem. 

[30] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

"If  I  had  a  bit  o'  black  for  my  shoes  now — 
with  your  clothes  I  could  get  me  a  housemaid's 
job  easy."  Her  muffler  covered  the  fact  that 
she  had  no  shirtwaist.  Then  she  added  en- 
couragingly: "You'd  better  get  a  job  quick. 
There's  only  one  blanket  on  these  beds  and 
clothes  run  down  using  them  for  covers  at 
night." 

Opposite  us  a  gray-cheeked  mother  was 
wrapping  a  black  petticoat  about  the  legs  of  a 
small  child.  She  tucked  the  little  girl  in  the 
narrow  bed  they  were  both  to  sleep  in,  and 
babbled  softly  to  the  drowsy  child: 

"No  place  yet.  My  heart  do  be  falling  out  o' 
me.  Well,  I'm  not  to  blame  because  it's  you 
that  keeps  me  from  getting  it.  You — "  she 
bent  over  the  bed  and  ended  sharply :  "Oh,  my 
darling,  shall  we  die  in  Dublin  ?" 

Through  the  dusk,  above  the  sound  of  cough- 
ing and  canvas  stretching  as  the  women  settled 
themselves  for  the  night,  there  rose  the  soft 


W HATS  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND?. 

yokes  of  two  women  telling  welcome  fairy  sto- 
ries to  each  other: 

"It  was  a  wild  night,"  said  one.  "She  was 
going  along  the  Liffey,  and  the  wind  coming 
up  from  the  sea  blew  the  cape  about  her  face 
and  she  half  fell  into  the  water.  He  caught 
her,  they  kept  company  for  seven  years  and 
then  he  married  her.  Who  do  you  suppose  he 
turned  out  to  be?  Why,  a  wealthy  London 
baker.  Och,  God  send  us  all  fortune." 

There  was  silence,  then  the  whisper  of  the 
mother : 

"Look  up  to  the  windows,  darling.  There's 
just  a  taste  of  daylight  left." 

Gradually  it  grew  dark  and  quiet  in  this  vault 
of  human  misery.  Then,  far  away  from  some 
remote  chapel  in  the  house,  there  floated  the  tri- 
umphant words  of  the  practising  choir: 

"Alleluia!    Alleluia!" 

ILL. 

WHAT  do  emigration  and  low  wages  do  to  Irish 
health?  Social  conditions  result  in  an  extra- 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

ordinary  percentage  of  tuberculosis  and  lunacy, 
and  in  a  baby  shortage  in  Ireland.  Individual 
propensities  to  sexual  excess  or  common  crime 
are,  incidentally,  responsible  for  little  of  the  ill 
health  in  Ireland. 

Ireland's  tuberculosis  rate  is  higher  than  that 
of  most  of  the  countries  in  the  "civilized" 
world.  Through  Sir  William  Thompson,  reg- 
istrar-general of  Ireland,  I  was  given  much 
material  about  tuberculosis  in  Ireland.  An  in- 
ternational pre-war  chart  showed  Ireland 
fourth  on  the  tuberculosis  list — it  was  ex- 
ceeded only  by  Austria,  Hungary,  and  Servia.1 
During  the  war,  Ireland's  tuberculosis  mortal- 
ity rate  showed  a  tendency  to  increase;  in  1913, 
her  death  list  from  tuberculosis  was  9,387  and 
in  1917  it  was  9,680.2 

Emigration  is  heat  to  the  tuberculosis  ther- 
mometer. Why?  Sir  Robert  Matheson,  ex- 
registrar-general  of  Ireland,  explained  at  a 
meeting  of  the  Woman's  National  Health  As- 
sociation. The  more  fit,  he  said,  emigrate,  and 

[33] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

the  less  fit  stay  home  and  propagate  weak  chil- 
dren. Besides,  emigrants  who  contract  the  dis- 
ease elsewhere  come  home  to  die.  Many  so  re- 
turn from  the  United  States.  Numbers  of  the 
50,000  annual  migrants  from  the  west  coast  of 
Ireland  to  the  English  harvests  return  to  nurse 
the  tuberculosis  they  contracted  across  the 
channel.  Dr.  Birmingham,  of  the  Westport 
Union,  is  quoted  as  saying  that  in  September 
a  disease  known  locally  as  the  "English  cold" 
is  prevalent  among  the  young  men  who  have 
been  harvesting  in  England.  Sometimes  it  is 
simple  bronchitis.  Mostly  it  is  incipent 
phthisis.  It  is  easily  traced  to  the  wretched 
sleeping  places  called  "Paddy  houses"  in  which 
Irish  laborers  are  permitted  to  be  housed  in 
England.  These  "Paddy  houses"  are  often 
death  traps — crowded,  dark,  unventilated  barns 
in  which  the  men  have  to  sleep  on  coarse  bags 
on  the  floor.3 

The  Irish  wage  causes  tuberculosis  to  mount 
higher.     Dr.  Andrew  Trimble,  chief  tubercu- 

[34] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

losis  officer  for  Belfast,  comments  on  the  fact 
that  the  sex  affected  proves  that  economic  con- 
ditions are  to  blame.  Under  conditions  of  pov- 
erty, women  become  ill  more  quickly  than  men. 
Dr.  Trimble  writes:  "In  Belfast  and  in  Ire- 
land generally  more  females  suffer  from  tuber- 
culosis than  males.  In  Great  Britain,  however, 
the  reverse  is  the  case.  ...  In  former  years, 
however,  they  had  much  the  same  experience 
as  we  have  in  Ireland  .  .  .  and  it  would  be 
necessary  to  go  back  over  twenty-five  years  to 
come  to  a  point  where  the  mortality  from  tuber- 
culosis among  women  equalled  that  now  obtain- 
ing with  us.  It  would  seem  that  the  hardships 
associated  with  poor  economic  conditions — in- 
sufficient wages,  bad  housing  and  want  of  fresh 
air,  good  food  and  sufficient  clothing — tell  more 
heavily  on  the  female  than  on  the  male,  and 
with  the  march  of  progress  and  better  condi- 
tions of  living  .  .  .  tuberculosis  amongst  wo- 
men is  automatically  reduced."4 

The  Irish  wage  must  choose  a  tuberculosis 
[35] 


(     WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

incubator  for  a  home.  Ireland  is  a  one-room- 
home  country.  In  the  great  "rural  slum"  dis- 
tricts, the  one-room  cabin  prevails.  Country 
slums  exist  where  homes  cannot  be  supported 
by  the  land  they  are  built  on — they  occur,  for 
instance,  in  the  rocky  fields  of  Galway  and  Don- 
egal and  in  the  stripped  bog  lands  of  Sligo. 
Galway  and  Donegal  cabins  are  made  of  stones 
wrested  from  the  ground;  in  Mayo,  the  walls 
are  piled  sod — mud  cabins.  Roofing  these 
western  homes  is  the  "skin  o'  th'  soil"  or  sod 
with  the  grass  roots  in  it.  Through  the  home- 
made roofs  or  barrel  chimneys  the  wet  Atlantic 
winds  often  pour  streams  of  water  that  puddle 
on  the  earthen  floors.  At  one  end  of  the  cabin 
is  a  smoky  dent  that  indicates  the  fireplace ;  and 
at  the  other  there  may  be  a  stall  or  two.  The 
small,  deep-set  windows  are,  as  a  rule,  "fixed." 
Rural  slums  are  rivaled  by  city  slums.  Even 
in  the  capital  of  Ireland  the  poor  are  housed 
as  badly  as  in  the  west  of  Ireland.  Looking 
down  on  the  city  of  Dublin  from  the  tower  of 

[36] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

St.  Patrick's  cathedral,  one  can  see  roofs  so 
smashed  in  that  they  look  as  if  some  giant  had 
walked  over  them;  great  areas  so  packed  with 
buildings  that  there  are  only  darts  of  passage- 
ways for  light  and  air.  In  ancient  plaster  cab- 
ins, in  high  old  edifices  with  pointed  Huguenot 
roofs,  in  Georgian  mansion  tenements,  there  are 
25,000  families  whose  homes  are  one-room 
homes.  Dublin's  proportion  of  those  who  live 
more  than  two  to  a  room  is  higher  than  that  of 
any  other  city  in  the  British  Isles — London  has 
16.8;  Edinburgh,  31.1 ;  Dublin,  37.9.5  In  one- 
room  homes  tuberculosis  breeds  fast.  A  table 
from  the  dispensary  for  tuberculosis  patients, 
an  institution  built  in  Dublin  as  a  memorial  to 
the  American,  P.  F.  Collier,  shows  that  out  of 
1,176  cases  676  came  from  one-room  homes.6 
As  a  type  case,  the  report  instances  this :  "Nine 
members  of  the  W family  were  found  liv- 
ing in  one  room  together  in  a  condition  bor- 
dering on  starvation.  Both  parents  were  very 
tubercular.  The  father  had  left  the  Sanato- 

[37] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

rium  of  the  South  Dublin  Union  on  hearing  of 
the  mother's  delicacy.  He  hoped  to  earn  a  little 
to  support  the  family  that  had  been  driven  to 
such  a  state  through  illness  that,  houseless,  it 
had  had  to  sleep  on  stairs.  The  only  regular 
income  was  $1.12  a  week  earned  by  the  eldest 
girl,  aged  16,  in  a  factory.  Owing  to  want  of 
food  and  unhealthy  surroundings,  she  was  in 
so  run  down  a  condition  that  it  seemed  certain 
she  would  become  tubercular  if  not  at  once  re- 
moved." 

The  Irish  wage  can't  buy  the  "good  old  diet." 
Milk  and  stirabout  and  potatoes  once  grew 
rosy-cheeked  children.  But  bread  and  tea  is  the 
general  diet  now.  War  rations?  Ireland  was 
not  put  on  war  rations.  To  regulate  the 
amount  of  butter  and  bacon  per  family  would 
have  been  superfluous  labor.  Few  families  got 
even  war  rations.7  Charitable  organizations 
doubt  if  they  should  give  relief  to  families  who 
are  able  to  have  an  occasional  meal  of  potatoes 
in  addition  to  their  bread  and  tea.  In  a  recent 

[38] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

pamphlet8  the  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  Society  said : 
"A  widow  .  .  .  who  after  paying  the  rent  of 
her  room,  has  a  shilling  a  day  to  feed  herself 
and  two,  three,  four  or  even  more  children,  is 
considered  a  doubtful  case  by  the  society.  Yet 
a  shilling  a  day  will  only  give  the  family  bread 
and  tea  for  every  meal,  with  an  occasional  dish 
of  potatoes.  By  strict  economy  a  little  marga- 
rine may  be  purchased,  but  by  no  process  of 
reasoning  may  it  be  said  that  the  family  has 
enough  to  eat,  or  suitable  food."  The  Irish 
wage  would  have  to  be  a  high  wage  to  buy  the 
old  diet.  For  that  is  not  supplied  by  Ireland 
for  Ireland  any  more.  When  Ireland  became 
a  cow  lot,  cereal  and  vegetable  crops  became 
few.  But  milk  should  be  plentiful?  The  re- 
cent vice-regal  milk  commission  noted  the  lack 
of  milk  for  the  poor  in  Ireland.  Why?  The 
town  of  Naas  tells  one  reason.  Naas  is  in  the 
midst  of  a  grazing  country,  but  Naas  babies 
have  died  for  want  of  milk,  because  Naas  cattle 
are  raised  for  beef  exportation.  The  town  of 

[39] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

Ennis  tells  another  reason.  Ennis  is  also  in 
the  center  of  a  grazing  country.  Until  the 
Woman's  National  Health  Association  estab- 
lished a  depot,  Ennis  poor  could  not  get  retailed 
pitchersful  of  milk,  for  Ennis  cows  are  raised 
to  supply  wholesale  cansful  to  creameries  which 
make  the  supply  into  dairy  products  for  ex- 
portation.9 

Bread-and-tea,  and  bread-and-tealess  fami- 
lies get  on  the  calling  list  of  tuberculosis  nurses. 
"The  nurses  often  found,"  writes  the  Woman's 
National  Health  Association,  "that  a  large 
number  of  cases  committed  to  their  care  were 
in  an  advanced  stage  of  the  disease  .  .  .  in  a 
number  of  cases  families  have  been  found  en- 
tirely without  food.  This  chronic  state  of  lack 
of  nourishment  .  .  .  accounts  in  part  for  the 
fact  that  there  are  two  and  sometimes  three 
persons  affected  in  the  same  family."1 

Has  mental  as  well  as  physical  health  been 
affected?  Lunacy  is  extraordinarily  prevalent 
in  Ireland.  In  the  lunacy  inspectors'  office  in 

[40] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

Dublin  castle,  I  was  given  the  last  comparison 
they  had  published  of  the  insanity  rates  in  Eng- 
land and  Wales,  Scotland  and  Ireland.  Eng- 
lish and  Welsh  insanity  per  10,000  people  was 
40.8 ;  Scottish,  45.4 ;  Irish,  56.2.  The  Irish  rate 
for  1916  showed  an  increase  to  57. 1.11 

Emigration,  remark  lunacy  experts,  fostered 
lunacy.  Whole  families  withdrew  from  certain 
districts.  Consanguineous  marriages  became 
more  frequent.  Weak-minded  cousins  wedded 
to  bring  forth  weaker-minded  children. 

And  Irish  living  conditions  are  a  nemesis. 
They  affect  those  who  go  as  well  as  those  who 
stay.  Commenting  on  the  fact  that  the  Irish 
contribute  the  highest  proportion  of  the  white 
foreign-born  population  to  the  American  hos- 
pitals for  the  insane,  as  well  as  filling  their  own 
asylums,  the  lunacy  inspectors  write:  "As  to 
why  this  should  be,  we  can  offer  no  reasoned 
explanation:  but  just  as  the  Irish  famine  was, 
apart  from  its  direct  effects,  responsible  for  so 
much  physical  and  mental  distress  in  the  coun- 

[41] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

try,  so  it  would  seem  not  improbable  that  the 
innutritious  dietary  and  other  deprivations  of 
the  majority  of  the  population  of  Ireland  must, 
when  acting  over  many  generations,  have  led 
to  impaired  nutrition  of  the  nervous  system, 
and  in  this  way  have  developed  in  the  race  those 
neuropathic  and  psychopathic  tendencies  which 
are  precursors  of  insanity."12 

Babies  don't  like  mentally  and  physically 
worn-out  parents.  Babies  used  to  be  thought 
to  have  special  predilection  for  Ireland.  But 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  come  to  the  island  less 
and  less.  Ireland  has  for  some  time  produced 
fewer  babies  to  the  thousand  people  than  Scot- 
land. During  the  decade  1907-1916  Scotland's 
annual  average  to  every  thousand  people  was 
25.9;13  Ireland's  was  22.8.  From  1907  to  1917 
Ireland's  total  number  of  babies  fell  from  101,- 
742  to  86,370.14 

But  as  was  said  in  the  beginning,  it  is  not  to 
individual  excess  that  most  of  the  ill  health  in 
Ireland  is  due.  It  was  not  until  recently  that 

[42] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

venereal  disease  as  a  factor  in  Irish  ill  health 
has  been  a  factor  worth  mentioning.  In  1906 
a  lunacy  report  read:  "The  statistics  show 
that  general  paralysis  of  the  insane — a  disease 
now  almost  unknown  in  Ireland — is  increasing 
in  the  more  populous  urban  districts.  At  the 
same  time  the  disease  is  still  much  less  preva- 
lent than  in  other  countries,  and  in  the  rural 
districts  it  is  practically  non-existent.  This  is 
to  a  large  extent  due  to  the  high  standard  of 
sexual  morality  that  prevails  all  over  Ire- 
land."15 

Nor  do  the  Irish  suffer  from  the  violence 
that  accompanies  common  crime — for  there  is 
little  crime  under  the  most  crime-provoking 
conditions.  As  the  Countess  of  Aberdeen  said : 
"In  the  past  annual  report  by  Sir  Charles  Cam- 
eron, the  medical  officer  of  health  for  Dublin, 
there  are  again  some  figures  that  tell  a  strange 
tale  of  poverty  so  widespread,  of  destitution  so 
complete,  of  housing  so  unsanitary,  of  unem- 
ployment so  little  heeded,  that  one  is  amazed  by 

[431 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

the  fact  that  no  combined  effort  on  the  part  of 
more  fortunate  citizens  has  been  made  toward 
bringing  about  a  wholesome  change,  and  this 
amazement  is  only  lessened  by  the  extraordi- 
nary freedom  we  in  Dublin  enjoy  from  rob- 
beries, peculations,  from  crimes  of  violence  and 
other  misdeeds  that  would  sharpen  our  percep- 
tion of  miseries  now  borne  with  a  fortitude 
and  a  self-restraint  that  cannot  but  appeal 
strongly  to  any  who,  either  from  personal  expe- 
rience or  philanthropic  reading,  know  how 
crime  and  vice  are  associated  elsewhere  with 
conditions  not  more  distressing  and  often  less 
long-lived  than  ours."16 

SCHOOL  CLOSED 

There's  small  chance  for  the  Irish  to  better 
their  condition  through  education.  Many  Irish 
children  don't  go  to  school.  It  is  estimated  that 
out  of  500,000  school  children,  150,000  do  not 
attend  school.  Why  not?  Here  are  two  rea- 
sons advanced  by  the  Vice-Regal  Committee  on 

[44] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

Primary  Education,  Ireland,  in  its  report  pub- 
lished by  His  Majesty's  Stationers,  Dublin, 
1919: 

Many  families  are  too  poor. 

England  does  not  encourage  Irish  education. 

Irish  poverty  is  recognized  in  the  school 
laws;  the  Irish  Education  act  passed  by  Par- 
liament in  1892  is  full  of  excuses  for  children 
who  must  go  to  work  instead  of  to  school. 
Thousands  of  Irish  youngsters  must  avail 
themselves  of  these  excuses.  Ireland  has  64,- 
000  children  under  the  age  of  14  at  work.  But 
Scotland  with  virtually  the  same  population  has 
only  37,500.17 

Eight-year-old  Michael  Mallin  'drags  kelp 
out  of  a  rush  basket  and  packs  it  down  for  fer- 
tilizer between  the  brown  ridges  of  the  little 
hand-spaded  field  in  Donegal. 

"Is  there  no  school  to  be  going  to,  Michael  ?" 

'There  do  be  a  school,  but  to  help  my  da' 
there  is  no  one  home  but  me." 

The  act  says  that  the  following  is  a  "reason- 
[451 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

able  excuse  for  the  non-attendance  of  a  child, 
namely,  .  .  .  being  engaged  in  necessary  oper- 
ations of  husbandry."1 

Ten-year-old  Margaret  Duncan  can  be  found 
sitting  hunched  up  on  a  doorstep  in  a  back 
street  in  Belfast.  Her  skirt  and  the  step  are 
webbed  with  threads  clipped  from  machine- 
embroidered  linen,  or  pulled  from  handker- 
chiefs for  hemstitching.  A  few  doors  away 
little  Helen  Keefe,  all  elbows,  is  scrubbing  her 
front  steps. 

"But  school's  on." 

"Aye,"  responds  Margaret,  ''but  our  mothers 
need  us." 

The  act  plainly  states  that  another  reason- 
able excuse  is  "domestic  necessity  or  other 
work  requiring  to  be  done  at  a  particular  time 
or  season."1 

William  Brady  has  a  twelve-hour  day  in 
Dublin.  He's  out  in  the  morning  at  5:30  to 
deliver  papers.  He's  at  school  until  three.  He 
runs  errands  for  the  sweet  shop  till  seven. 

[46] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

"You  get  too  tired  for  school  work.  How 
does  your  teacher  like  that?" 

"Ash !    She  can't  do  anything." 

Intuitively  he  knows  that  he  can  protect 
himself  behind  the  fortress  of  words  in  the 
school  attendance  act :  "A  person  shall  not  be 
deemed  to  have  taken  a  child  into  his  employ- 
ment in  contravention  of  this  act  if  it  is  proved 
that  the  employment  by  reason  of  being  during 
the  hours  when  school  is  not  in  session  does  not 
interfere  with  the  efficient  elementary  instruc- 
tion of  the  child."20 

Nine-year-old  Patrick  Gallagher  may  go  to 
the  Letterkenny  Hiring  Fair  and  sell  his  baby 
services  to  a  farmer.  Some  one  may  say  to 
Paddy: 

"Why  aren't  you  at  school?" 

"Surely,  I  live  over  two  miles  away  from 
school." 

The  law  thinks  two  miles  are  too  far  for  him 
to  walk.  So  he  may  be  hired  to  work  instead. 
Reads  the  education  act :  "A  person  shall  not 

[47] 


be  deemed  to  have  taken  a  child  into  his  em- 
ployment in  contravention  of  this  act  if  it  is 
proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  court  that 
during  the  employment  there  is  not  within  two 
miles  .  .  .  from  the  residence  of  the  child  any 
.  .  .  school  which  the  child  can  attend."21 

Incidentally  England  does  not  encourage 
Irish  education.  England  does  not  provide 
enough  money  to  erect  the  best  schools  nor  to 
attract  the  best  teachers.  But  England  agreed 
to  an  Irish  education  grant.22  She  established 
a  central  board  of  education  in  Ireland,  and 
promised  that  through  this  board  she  would 
pay  two-thirds  of  the  school  building  bill  and 
teachers'  salaries  to  any  one  who  was  zealous 
enough  to  erect  a  school.  Does  England  come 
through  with  the  funds?  Not,  says  the  vice- 
regal committee,  unless  she  feels  like  it.  In 
1900  she  agreed  with  Ireland  that  Ireland's 
teachers  should  be  paid  higher  salaries,  but 
stipulated  that  the  increase  in  salaries  would 
not  mean  an  immediate  increase  in  grants. 

[481 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

New  building  grants  were  suspended  altogether 
for  a  time.  In  1902,  an  annual  grant  of 
£185,000  was  diverted  from  Irish  primary 
education  and  used  for  quite  extraneous  pur- 
poses. And  when  England  does  give  money 
for  Irish  education,  she  pays  no  heed  to  the 
requirements  stated  by  the  Irish  commissioners 
of  education.23  Instead  she  says:  "This 
amount  I  happen  to  be  giving  to  English  edu- 
cation ;  I  will  grant  a  proportionate  amount  to 
Irish  education." 

"If  English  primary  education  happens  to 
require  financial  aid  from  the  Treasury,  Irish 
primary  education  is  to  get  some  and  in  pro- 
portion thereto,"  writes  the  committee.  "If 
England  happens  not  to  require  any,  then,  of 
course,  neither  does  Ireland.  A  starving  man 
is  to  be  fed  only  if  some  one  else  is  hungry 
.  .  .  It  seems  to  us  extraordinary  that 
Irish  primary  education  should  be  financed  on 
lines  that  have  little  relation  to  the  needs  of 
the  case."24 

[491 


WHATS  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

So  there  are  not  enough  schools  to  go  to. 
Belfast  teachers  testified  before  the  committee 
that  in  their  city  alone  there  were  15,000  chil- 
dren without  school  accommodations.  Some 
of  the  number  are  on  the  streets.  Others  are 
packed  into  educational  holes  of  Calcutta. 
New  schools,  said  the  teachers,  are  needed  not 
only  for  these  pupils  but  also  for  those  incar- 
cerated in  unsuitable  schools — unheated  schools 
or  schools  in  whose  dark  rooms  gas  must  burn 
daily.  On  the  point  of  unsuitability,  the  testi- 
mony of  a  special  investigator  named  F.  H. 
Dale  was  quoted.  He  said: 

"I  have  no  hesitation  in  reporting  that  both 
in  point  of  convenience  for  teachers  and  in  the 
requirements  necessary  for  the  health  of  teach- 
ers and  scholars,  the  average  school  buildings 
in  Dublin  and  Belfast  are  markedly  inferior 
to  the  average  school  buildings  now  in  use  in 
English  cities  of  corresponding  size." 

So  if  unsuitable  schools  were  removed,  Bel- 
fast would  have  to  provide  for  some  thousands 

[50] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

of  school  children  beyond  the  estimate  of 
15,000,  and  other  localities  according  to  their 
similar  great  need.25 

Live,  interesting  primary  teachers  are  few 
in  Ireland.  The  low  pay  does  not  begin  to 
compensate  Irish  school  teachers  for  the  great 
sacrifices  they  must  make.  Women  teachers  in 
Ireland  begin  at  $405  a  year;  men  at  $500.  If 
it  were  not  for  the  fact  that  there  are  very 
few  openings  for  educated  young  men  and 
women  in  a  grazing  country  there  would  prob- 
ably be  even  greater  scarcity.26  Since  three- 
fourths  of  the  schools  are  rural  those  who 
determine  to  teach  must  resign  themselves  to 
social  and  professional  hermitage.  What  is 
the  result  of  these  factors  on  the  teaching 
morale?  The  1918  report  at  the  education 
office  shows  13,258  teachers,  and  only  3,820  of 
these  are  marked  highly  efficient.27 

Thus  the  committee  of  the  lord  lieutenant. 

t.  "Ireland's  Crusade  Against  Tuberculosis."  Edited  by  Countess 
of  Aberdeen.  Maunsel  and  Company.  Dublin.  1908.  P.  32. 

2.  "Marriages,  Births,  and  Deaths  in  Ireland,  1917."     His  Majesty's 
Stationery  Office.     Dublin.     1918.     P.  IX. 

3.  "Ireland's  Crusade  Against  Tuberculosis."     P.  34-35. 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

4.  "Report  of  Chief  Tuberculosis  Officer  of  Belfast  for  the  Three 
Years  Ended  31  March,  1917."    Hugh  Adair.     Belfast.     1917.     P.  25. 

5.  "Appendix  Report  Housing  Conditions  of  Dublin."     Alex  Thorn. 
Dublin.     1914.     P.  154. 

6.  "First    Annual    Report    P.    F.    Collier    Memorial    Dispensary." 
Dollard.     Dublin.      1913.     P.  24. 

7.  "Starvation  in  Dublin."        By    Lionel    Gordon-Smith    and    Cruise 
O'Brien.     Wood  Printing  Works.     Dublin.     1917.     P.  14. 

8.  "The  Poor  in  Dublin."     Pamphlet.     St.  Vincent  de  Paul  Society. 

9.  "How    Local    Milk    Depots    in    Ireland   Are    Worked."      Dollard. 
Dublin.     1915.     P.  3-15. 

10.  "Second  Annual  Report  of  the  Woman's  National  Health  Asso- 
ciation."    Waller  and   Company.     Dublin.      1909.     P.  143. 

11.  "Supplement   Fifty  -fourth   Report  Inspectors  of  Lunacy."     Alex 
Thorn.     Dublin.      1906.     P.  VII. 

12.  Ibid.     P.  XXVII. 

13.  "Sixty-second  Annual  Report  of  the  Registrar  General  for  Scot- 
land,    1916."      His    Majesty's    Stationery    Office.      Edinburgh.       1918. 
P.  LXVII. 

14.  "Marriages,  Births,  and  Deaths  in  Ireland,  1917."     P.  XII. 

15..    "Supplement    Fifty-fourth    Report    Inspectors    of    Lunacy."      P. 


16.  "The  Woman's  National  Health  Association  and  Infant  Welfare." 
The  Child.       June,  1911.     P.  10. 

17.  Figures  supplied  by  H.  C.  Ferguson,  Superintendent  of  Charity 
Organization  Society,  Belfast,  1919. 

18.  "Irish  Education  Act,  1892."    (55  &  56  Viet)    Chap.  42.    P..  1. 

19.  Ibid.    P.  1. 

20.  Ibid.    P.  4. 

21.  Ibid.    P.  3. 

22.  Ibid.     P.  8  et  al. 

23.  "Vice-regal    Committee    of    Enquiry    inte    Primary    Education, 
Ireland,  1918."    His  Majesty's  Stationery  Office.    Dublin.  ~  1919.    P.  22. 

24.  Ibid.     P.  22. 

25.  Ibid.    Martin  Reservation.    P.  27-30. 

26.  Ibid.     P.  8. 

27.  Ibid.    P.  39. 


[52] 


-SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION 


II 

SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION 

WILL   SOCIAL    CONDITION    LEAD    TO    IMMEDIATE 
REVOLUTION  ? 

"EAMONN  DE  VALERA,  the  President  of  the  Irish 
Republic,  who  has  been  in  hiding  since  his  escape  from 
Lincoln  jail,  will  be  welcomed  back  to  Dublin  by  a 
public  reception.  Tomorrow  evening  at  seven  o'clock 
he  will  be  met  at  the  Mount  street  bridge  by  Lawrence 
O'Neill,  Lord  Mayor  of  Dublin.  ..." 

THE  news  note  was  in  the  morning  papers. 
In  small  type  it  was  hidden  on  the  back  pages — 
the  Irish  papers  have  a  curious  habit  of  six- 
pointing  articles  in  which  the  people  are  vitally 
interested  and  putting  three-column  heads  on 
such  stuff  as:  "Do  Dublin  Girls  Rouge?" 
That  day  the  concern  of  the  people  was  un- 
questionably not  rouge  but  republics.  For  the 
question  that  sibilated  in  Grafton  street  cafes 

[551 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

and  at  the  tram  change  at  Nelson  pillar  was: 
"Will  Dublin  Castle  permit?" 

Orders  and  gun  enforcement.  The  empire 
did  not  deviate  from  the  usual  program  of 
empires — action  without  discussion.  In  the 
crises  that  are  always  occurring  between  or- 
ganized revolt  and  the  empire,  there  is  never 
any  consideration  of  the  physical  agony  that 
goads  the  people  to  revolt.  There  wasn't  now. 
By  early  afternoon,  the  answer,  on  great, 
black-lettered  posters,  was  swabbed  to  the 
sides  of  buildings  all  over  town: 

"DE  VALERA  RECEPTION  FORBIDDEN?" 

That  was  the  headline,  and  after  instructions 
warning  the  people  not  to  take  part  in  the 
ceremony,  the  government  order  ended: 

"GOD  SAVE  THE  KING!" 

How  would  the  revolutionaries  reply?  Ru- 
mors ran  riot.  The  Sinn  Fein  volunteers 
would  pit  themselves  against  His  Majesty's 

[56] 


troops.  The  streets  would  be  red  again.  The 
belief  that  the  meeting  would  be  held  in  spite 
of  the  proclamation  was  supported  by  a  state- 
ment on  green-lettered  posters  that  appeared 
later  next  the  British  dictum: 

"LORD  MAYOR  REQUESTS  GOOD  ORDER  AT 
RECEPTION  !" 

This  plea  was  followed  by  a  paragraph  ask- 
ing that  the  people  attending  the  reception 
would  not  allow  themselves  to  be  provoked  into 
disorder  by  the  British  military.  Then  there 
was  the  concluding  exclamation: 

"GOD  SAVE  IRELAND!" 

On  my  way  to  the  Sinn  Fein  headquarters 
in  Harcourt  street,  I  passed  the  Mansion 
House  of  the  Lord  Mayor  and  found  two  long- 
coated  Dublin  Military  Police  stripping  the 
new  wet  poster  from  the  yellow  walls.  When 
I  arrived  at  Number  6,  Harcourt  street,  I  saw 
black-clad  Mrs.  Sheehy-Sheffington,  in  some- 

[57] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

what  agitated  absorption  of  thought,  coming 
down  the  worn  steps  of  the  old  Georgian  house. 
In  the  upper  back  room,  earnest  young  secre- 
taries worked  in  swift  silence.  One  of  them, 
a  curly-haired  girl  with  her  mouth  o-ed  about 
a  cigarette,  puffed  unceasingly.  At  last  Harry 
Boland,  secretary  of  Sinn  Fein,  entered. 

"The  council  decides  tonight,"  he  admitted. 
His  eyes  were  bright  and  faraway  like  one 
whose  mind  is  on  a  coming  crisis.  When  I 
told  him  I  would  drop  in  again  to  hear  the 
decision,  he  protested  that  they  would  be  at  it 
till  late.  On  my  counter  protest  that  time  made 
no  difference  to  me,  he  promised  that  if  I  would 
not  come  he  would  send  me  word  at  eleven  that 
night.  "But  I  think,"  he  added,  "we  won't 
know  till  morning." 

At  ten  that  night,  Boots  knocked  at  my  door. 
I  concluded  that  there  had  been  a  stampeded 
decision.  But  on  going  out  I  discovered  the 
Associated  Press  correspondent  there.  He 
told  me  that  he  heard  that  I  was  to  receive  the 

[58] 


SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION 

news  and  that  he  did  not  believe  that  there  was 
any  necessity  of  bothering  the  Sinn  Feiners 
twice  for  the  same  decision. 

"I  think  the  reception  is  quite  likely,"  he 
volunteered.  "This  afternoon  a  good  many  of 
the  Sinn  Fein  army  were  at  University  chapel 
at  confession.  At  the  girls'  hostels  of  National 
University — which  is  regarded  as  a  sort  of 
adolescent  Sinn  Fein  headquarters — there  have 
been  strict  orders  that  the  girls  are  to  remain 
indoors  tomorrow  night." 

When  the  messenger  arrived  at  eleven  to  say 
that  no  decision  had  been  reached,  I  made  an 
appointment  for  an  interview  on  the  following 
day  with  DeValera. 

Electricity  was  in  the  air  by  morning.  There 
were  all  sorts  of  sparks.  Young  men  in  civilian 
clothes  ran  for  trams  with  their  hands  over 
their  hip  pockets.  A  delightful  girl  whom  I 
had  met,  boarded  my  car  with  a  heavy  parcel 
in  her  hands.  As  the  British  officer  next  me 
rose  to  give  her  his  seat,  her  cheeks  became 

[59] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

very  pink.  Sometime  later  she  told  me  that, 
like  the  rest  of  the  Sinn  Fein  volunteers,  she 
had  received  her  mobilization  orders,  and  that 
the  parcel  the  officer  had  relented  for  was — her 
rifle. 

At  that  time,  her  division  of  the  woman's 
section  of  the  Sinn  Fein  volunteers  was  press- 
ing a  plan  for  the  holding  of  the  reception.  In 
order,  however,  that  no  needed  fighters  would 
be  killed,  the  girls  had  asked  that  they  should 
be  first  to  meet  the  president.  Then,  when  the 
machine  guns  commenced,  "only  girls"  would 
fall. 

Into  College  Green  a  brute  of  a  tank  had 
cruised.  The  man  in  charge  was  inviting 
people  to  have  a  look.  Inside  there  were  red- 
lipped  munition  boxes,  provender  cases,  and 
through  the  skewer-sized  sight-holes  next  the 
jutting  guns,  there  were  glimpses  of  shoppers 
emerging  from  Grafton  street  into  the  Green. 
Over  the  city,  against  the  silver-rimmed,  Irish 
gray  clouds,  aeroplanes — there  were  sixteen  in 

[60] 


SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION 

one  formation — buzzed  insistently.  Between 
the  little  stone  columns  of  the  roof  railing  of 
Trinity  College,  machine  guns  poked  out  their 
cold  snouts. 

"Smoke  bombs  were  dropped  over  Mount 
street  bridge  today,"  said  Harry  Boland  with 
a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  when  I  arrived  at  Sinn 
Fein  headquarters  to  ask  if  the  reception  would 
still  be  held.  "What  can  we  do  against  a  force 
like  theirs?" 

But  there  was  a  strained  feeling  at  head- 
quarters as  if  the  decision  had  been  made  after 
a  hard  fight.  Alderman  Thomas  Kelly,  one  of 
the  oldest  of  the  Sinn  Feiners,  told  me  that  he 
had  backed  DeValera  in  his  refusal  to  counte- 
nance a  needless  loss  of  life,  and  that  it  was 
only  after  a  good  struggle  that  their  point  had 
won. 

"DeValera's  just  beyond  the  town,"  whis- 
pered Harry  Boland  to  me  when  he  decided 
that  we  would  leave  to  see  the  president  at 
seven — the  hour  the  executive  was  due  to  ap- 

[61] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

pear  at  the  bridge.  "They're  searching  all  the 
cars  that  cross  the  canal  bridges.  If  there  is 
any  trouble  as  we  pass  just  say  that  you  are 
an  American  citizen — that'd  get  you  through 
anywhere." 

Knots  of  still  expectant  people  were  gathered 
at  the  Mount  street  bridge.  Squads  of  long- 
coated  military  police  patrolled  the  place.  Chil- 
dren called  at  games.  The  starlight  dripped 
into  the  canal.  At  Portobello  bridge  we  made 
our  crossing.  Nothing  happened.  The  con- 
stables did  not  even  punch  the  cushions  of  our 
car  as  they  did  with  others  to  see  if  munitions 
were  concealed  therein.  We  swooped  down 
curving  roads  between  white  walls  hung  with 
masses  of  dark  laurel.  We  stopped  dead  on  a 
road  arched  with  trees.  We  got  out,  clicked 
the  car  door  softly  shut,  turned  a  corner,  and 
walked  some  distance  in  the  cool  night.  As 
we  walked  I  made  I  forget  what  request  in 
regard  to  the  interview  from  young  Mr.  Bo- 
land,  and  with  the  reverent  regard  and  com- 

[62] 


SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION 

plete  obedience  to  DeValera's  wishes  that  is 
characteristic  in  the  young  Sinn  Feiners — a 
state  of  mind  that  does  not,  however,  prevent 
calling  the  president  "Dev" — he  said  simply: 
"But  I  must  do  what  he  tells  me."  At  the  door 
of  a  modestly  comfortable  home  whose  steps 
we  mounted,  a  thick-set  man  blocked  my  way 
for  a  moment. 

"You  won't,"  he  asked,  "say  where  you 
came?" 

"I'm  sure,"  I  returned,  "I  haven't  an  idea 
where  I  am." 

DeValera  was  giving  rapid,  almost  breath- 
less, orders  in  Irish  to  some  one  as  I  entered  his 
room.  His  thin  frame  towered  above  a  dark 
plush-covered  table.  A  fire  behind  him  sur- 
rounded him  with  a  soft  yellow  aura.  His 
white,  ascetic,  young — he  is  thirty-seven — face 
was  lined  with  determination.  Doors  and 
windows  were  hung  with  thick,  dark-red  por- 
tieres, and  the  walls  were  almost  as  white  as 
DeValera's  face. 

[63] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

"Pardon  us  for  speaking  Irish,"  he  apolo- 
gized. "We  forget.  Now  first  of  all,  we  will 
go  over  the  questions  you  sent  me.  I  have 
written  the  answers.  They  must  appear  as  I 
have  put  them  down.  That  is  the  condition 
on  which  the  interview  takes  place." 

Did  Sinn  Fein  plan  immediate  revolution? 
The  president  ran  a  fountain  pen  under  the 
small,  finely  written  lines  as  he  remarked  in  an 
aside  that  he  was  not  a  writer  but  a  mathema- 
tician. No.  The  sudden  set  of  the  president's 
jaw  indicated  that  this  man  who  had  fought 
in  the  1916  rebellion  till  even  his  enemies  had 
praised  him,  was  the  man  who  had  decided 
there  would  be  no  reception  at  the  bridge.  No. 
There  would  be  no  armed  revolt  till  all  peace- 
able methods  had  failed. 

If  Sinn  Fein  succeeded  in  getting  separation, 
would  it  establish  a  bolshevistic  government? 
DeValera  returned  that  he  was  not  sure  what 
bolshevism  is.  As  far  as  he  understood  bolshe- 
vism,  Sinn  Fein  was  not  bolshevistic.  But 

[64] 


SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION 

perhaps,  by  the  way,  bolshevism  had  been  as 
misrepresented  in  the  American  press  as  Sinn 
Fein.  Right  there,  I  took  exception  and  said 
that  from  his  own  point  of  view  I  did  not  see 
what  good  slurring  the  American  press  would 
do  his  cause.  Immediately  he  answered  as  if 
only  the  principal  phase  of  the  matter  had  oc- 
curred to  him:  "But  it's  true."  Then  he  con- 
tinued: The  worker  is  unfairly  treated. 
Whether  it  is  bolshevistic  or  not,  Sinn  Fein 
hopes  to  bring  about  a  government  in  which 
there  will  be  juster  conditions  for  the  laboring 
classes. 

CAUSE  AND  REMEDY  OF  SOCIAL  CONDITIONS. 

The  empire  does  not  consider  the  cause  of 
revolt.1  But  the  republic  is  interested  not  only 
in  the  cause  but  also  in  the  remedy. 

Relief,  the  republic  has  said,  must  come 
through  Sinn  Fein — ourselves.  Neither  the 
Sinn  Fein  leaders  nor  the  people  believe  in  the 
power  of  the  Irish  vote  in  the  British  House 

[651 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

of  Commons.  At  the  last  general  elections  the 
Sinn  Fein  party  pledged  that  if  its  members 
were  elected  they  would  not  go  to  the  British 
parliament,  but  would  remain  at  home  to  form 
the  Irish  parliament,  the  governing  body  of  the 
Irish  republic.  Dodgers  explaining  why  Sinn 
Fein  had  decided  to  forego  the  House  of  Com- 
mons were  widely  distributed.  These  read: 
"What  good  has  parliamentarianism  been? 
For  thirty-three  years  England  has  been  con- 
sidering Home  Rule  while  Irish  members 
pleaded  for  it.  But  in  three  weeks  the  English 
parliament  passed  a  conscriptive  act  for  Ire- 
land, though  the  Irish  party  was  solid  against 
it."  On  this  platform,  Sinn  Fein  won  seventy- 
three  out  of  105  seats. 

If  Sinn  Fein  is  to  relieve  the  social  condi- 
tions in  Ireland,  it  must,  say  Sinn  Feiners,  find 
out  the  cause.  So  they  have  pondered  on  this 
question :  What  is  the  cause  of  the  unemploy- 
ment in  Ireland  today?  The  answer  to  that 
question  was  the  one  point  that  the  sharp- 

[66] 


SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION 

mustached,  sardonic  little  Arthur  Griffith, 
founder  of  Sinn  Fein,  wanted  the  American 
delegates  from  the  Philadelphia  Race  Conven- 
tion to  carry  back  to  America. 

It  was  revealed  at  a  meeting  of  the  Irish 
parliament  specially  called  for  the  delegates. 
Cards  were  difficult  to  get  for  that  meeting, 
and  as  each  one  passed  through  the  long 
dreary  ante-room  of  the  circular  assembly  hall 
of  the  Mansion  House,  he  was  subjected  to  close 
scrutiny  by  the  two  dozen  Irish  volunteers  on 
guard.  In  the  civilian  audience  there  was  a 
sprinkling  of  American  and  Australian  officers. 
Up  on  the  platform  was  the  throne  of  the  Lord 
Mayor,  in  front  of  which  sat  the  delegates — 
Frank  Walsh,  Edward  F.  Dunne,  and  Michael 
Ryan.  In  a  roped-off  semi-circle  below  the 
platform  were  deep  upholstered  chairs  wherein 
rested  the  members  of  the  Irish  parliament. 
Countess  Markewicz  was,  of  course,  the  only 
woman  there.  White-haired,  trembling-handed 
Laurence  Ginnel,  who  is  given  long  jail  terms 

[67] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

because  he  refuses  to  take  his  hat  off  in  a  British 
court,  sat  forward  on  his  chair.  The  rich 
young  Protestant  named  Robert  Barton  re- 
garded the  crowd  through  his  shining  eye- 
glasses. Keen,  boyish  Michael  Collins,  minis- 
ter of  finance,  fingered  the  paper  he  was  going 
to  read.  The  last  two  men  had  recently 
escaped  from  prison  and  were  wanted  by  the 
police — both,  as  they  say  in  Ireland,  were  "on 
the  run." 

"England  kills  Irish  industry,"  said  the 
succinct  Arthur  Griffith  as  he  rose  from  the 
right  hand  of  DeValera  to  address  the  dele- 
gates. "Early  in  the  nineteenth  century,  Eng- 
land wanted  a  cheap  meat  supply  center.  She 
therefore  made  it  more  profitable  for  the  land- 
owners in  Ireland  to  grow  cattle  instead  of 
crops.  Only  a  few  herders  are  required  in 
cattle  care.  So  literally  millions  of  Irish,  tillers 
of  the  soil  and  millers  of  grain,  were  thrown 
out  of  employment,  and  from  1841  to  1911  the 
population  fell  from  8,000,000  to  4,400,000. 

[68] 


SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION 

Today,  Ireland,  capable  of  supporting  16,000,- 
000,  cannot  maintain  4,000,000."2 

What  is  the  Sinn  Fein  remedy  for  unem- 
ployment? Industry.  Plans  were  then  under 
way  for  DeValera  to  make  his  escape  to 
America  to  obtain  American  capital  to  back 
Irish  industry.  But  money  was  not  to  be  his 
sole  business.  He  was  to  work  for  the  recog- 
nition of  Irish  consuls  and  Irish  mercantile 
marine.  And  inside  Ireland  the  movement  to 
establish  industry  on  a  sound  basis  was  going 
on.  Irish  banks,  Irish  courts,  Irish  schools 
are  to  sustain  the  movement.  At  present  the 
English-controlled  Irish  banks  handicap  Irish 
entrepreneurs  by  charging  them  one  per  cent 
more  interest  than  English  banks  charge  Eng- 
lish borrowers;  therefore,  a  national  bank  is 
regarded  as  an  imperative  need.  Decisions  of 
British  judges  in  Irish  courts  may  hamper 
Irish  industry;  so  in  parts  of  the  country  per- 
fectly legal  courts  of  arbitration  manned  by 
Irishmen  have  been  established.  School  chil- 

[69] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

dren  under  the  present  system  of  education  are 
trained  neither  to  commerce  nor  to  love  of  the 
development  of  their  native  land;  accordingly 
a  Sinn  Fein  school  fund  is  now  being  collected 
so  that  the  Irish  parliament  may  soon  be  able 
to  take  over  national  education. 

Sinn  Fein  could  develop  industry  more  easily 
if  Ireland  were  free.3  There  is  hope.  It  lies 
in  Ireland's  very  lack  of  jobs.  British  labor 
does  not  like  the  competition  of  the  cheap  labor 
market  next  door.  It  rather  welcomes  the 
party  that  would  push  Irish  industry.  For 
with  Irish  industry  developed  Irish  labor  would 
become  scarce  and  high.  Already  the  British 
labor  party  has  declared  in  favor  of  the  self- 
determination  of  Ireland,  and  it  is  expected 
that  with  its  accession  to  power  there  may  be 
a  final  granting  of  self-determination  to  Ire- 
land. 

As  we  were  leaving  the  Mansion  House — to 
which  some  of  us  were  invited  to  return  to  a 
reception  for  the  delegates  that  evening — I 


SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION 

found  intense  reaction  to  the  speakers  of  the 
day.  I  asked  a  young  American  non-commis- 
sioned officer  how  he  liked  DeValera.  He 
seemed  to  be  as  stirred  by  the  name  as  the 
young  members  of  DeValera's  regiment  who 
besiege  Mrs.  DeValera  for  some  little  valueless 
possession  of  the  "chief's."  The  boy  drew  in 
his  breath,  and  I  expected  him  to  let  it  out 
again  in  a  flow  of  praise,  but  emotion  seemed 
to  get  the  better  of  him,  and  all  he  could  man- 
age was  a  fervent:  "Oh,  gee!"  Then  I  came 
across  young  Sylvia  Pankhurst,  disowned  by 
her  family  for  her  communist  sympathies,  and 
in  Dublin  for  the  purpose  of  persuading  the 
Irish  parliament  to  become  soviet.  The  Irish 
speakers,  she  told  me,  were  much  to  be  pre- 
ferred to  the  Americans.  They  used  more 
figures  and  less  figures  of  speech.  And  when 
I  repeated  her  remark  to  Desmond  Fitzgerald, 
a  pink  and  fastidious  member  of  parliament,  he 
smilingly  commented:  "Well,  we  Irish  are 
more  sophisticated,  aren't  we?" 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 
THE  MAILED  FIST 

In  the  afternoon  the  curtain  went  up  on  a 
matinee  performance  of  The  Mailed  Fist. 

The  first  act  was  in  the  home  of  Madame 
Gonne-McBride.  It  was,  properly,  an  exposi- 
tion of  the  power  of  the  enemy. 

With  Madame  Gonne-McBride,  once  called 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Europe,  Sylvia 
Pankhurst,  and  the  sister  of  Robert  Barton,  I 
entered  the  big  house  on  Stephen's  Green. 
Modern  splashily  vivid  wall  coloring.  Japa- 
nese screens.  Ancient  carved  madonnas.  Two 
big  Airedales  thudded  up  and  down  in  greeting 
to  their  mistress.  I  spoke  of  their  unusual  size. 

Madame  Gonne-McBride,  taking  the  head  of 
one  of  them  between  her  hands :  "They  won't 
let  any  one  arrest  me  again,  will  they?" 

She  is  tall  and  slim  in  her  deep  mourning — 
her  husband  was  killed  in  the  rebellion  of  1916. 
Her  widow's  bonnet  is  a  soft  silky  guipure  lace 
placed  on  her  head  like  a  Red  Cross  worker's 

[72] 


SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION 

coif.  On  the  breast  of  her  black  gown  there 
hangs  a  large  dull  silver  cross.  Beggars  and 
flower-sellers  greet  her  by  name.  It  is  said 
that  a  large  part  of  her  popularity  is  due  to 
her  work  in  obtaining  free  school  lunches. 
Anyway,  there  was  great  grief  among  the 
people  when  she  was  thrown  into  jail  for  sup- 
posed complicity  in  the  unproved  German  plot. 
The  arrest,  she  said,  came  one  Sunday  night. 
She  was  walking  unconcernedly  from  one  of 
George  Russell's  weekly  gatherings,  when  five 
husky  constables  blocked  the  bridge  road  and 
hurried  her  off  to  jail.  At  last,  on  account  of 
her  ill  health,  she  was  released  from  prison — 
very  weak  and  very  pale. 

Enter  seventeen-year-old  Sean  McBride. 
Places  back  against  the  door.  Blue  eyes  wide. 
Breathlessly:  'They're  after  Bob  Barton  and 
Michael  Collins.  They've  surrounded  the 
Mansion  House." 

Hatless  we  raced  across  Stephen's  Green — 
that  little  handkerchief  of  a  park  that  never 

[73] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

seemed  so  embroidered  with  turns  and  bridges 
and  bandstands  and  duck  ponds  before. 
Through  the  crowd  that  had  already  gathered 
we  edged  our  way  till  we  came  to  the  double 
line  of  bayonets  and  batons  that  guarded  the 
entrance  to  Dawson  street.  Over  the  broad, 
blue  shoulder  of  the  policeman  directly  in  front 
of  me,  I  glimpsed  a  wicked-looking  little  whip- 
pet tank  with  two  very  conscious  British 
officers  just  head  and  shoulders  out.  Still 
further  down  were  three  covered  motor  lorries 
that  had  been  used  to  convey  the  soldiers. 

Sean,  for  the  especial  benefit  of  constable 
just  ahead:  "Wars  for  democracy  and  small 
nations!  And  that's  the  only  way  they  can 
keep  us  in  the  British  empire.  Brute  force. 
Nice  exhibition  for  the  American  journalists 
in  town." 

Constable  stalked  Sean  back  to  edge  of 
crowd.  Sean  looked  at  him  steadily  with  slight 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  Miss  Barton,  Miss  Pank- 
hurst,  and  I  climbed  up  a  low  stone  wall  that 

[741 


SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION 

commanded  the  guarded  street,  and  clung  to 
the  iron  paling  on  top.  Sean  came  and  stood 
beneath. 

Miss  Pankhurst,  regarding  crowd  in  puzzled 
manner:  "Why  do  you  all  smile?  When  the 
suffragists  were  arrested  we  used  to  become 
furious." 

Sean  looking  up  at  her  in  kindly  manner  in 
which  old  rebel  might  glance  at  impatient 
young  rebel:  "You  forget.  We're  very  used 
to  this." 

Miss  Pankhurst  made  an  unexpected  jump 
from  her  place.  She  wedged  her  way  to  the 
line  of  soldiers.  As  she  talked  to  two  young 
Tommies  they  blushed  and  fiddled  with  their 
bayonets  like  girls  with  their  first  bouquets  of 
flowers.  Twice  a  British  major  admonished 
them. 

Miss  Pankhurst,  returning:  "Welsh  boys. 
Just  babies.  I  asked  them  why  they  came  out 
armed  to  kill  fellow  workers.  They  said  they 
had  enlisted  for  the  war.  If  they  had  known 

[75] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND?. 

they  were  to  be  sent  to  Ireland  they  would  have 
refused  to  go.  I  told  them  it  was  not  too  late 
to  act.  They  could  take  off  their  uniforms. 
But  they?  They're  weak — weak." 

As  dusk  fell,  party  capes  and  tulle  mists  of 
head  dresses  began  to  appear  between  the  drab 
or  tattered  suits  of  the  bystanders.  Among 
the  coming  reception  guests  was  Susan 
Mitchell,  co-editor  with  George  Russell  on 
The  Irish  Homestead. 

Susan  'Mitchell,  of  constable:  "Can't  I  go 
through?  No?  But  there's  to  be  a  party,  and 
the  tea  will  get  all  cold." 

In  the  courage  of  the  crowd,  the  people  began 
to  sing  The  Soldiers'  Song.  It  took  courage. 
It  was  shortly  after  John  O'Sheehan  had  been 
sentenced  for  two  years  for  caroling  another 
Seditious  lyric.  A  surge  of  sound  brought  out 
the  words:  "The  west's  awake!"  Dying 
voices.  And  a  sudden  right-about-face  move- 
ment of  the  throng. 

Crowd  shouting:    "Up  the  Americans!" 
[76] 


SINN  FEIN  'AND  REVOLUTION 

With  Sinn  Fein  and  American  flags  flying, 
the  delegates'  car  rolled  up  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  crowd.  A  sharp  order.  The  crowd-fearing 
bayonets  lunged  forward.  Frank  Walsh,  look- 
ing through  his  tortoise-rim  glasses  at  the  steel 
fence,  got  out  of  his  car.  He  walked  up  to 
the  pointing  bayonets,  and  asked  for  the  man 
in  charge. 

Frank  Walsh:    "What's  the  row?" 

The  casualness  of  the  question  must  have 
disarmed  Lieutenant-Colonel  Johnstone  of  the 
Dublin  Military  Police.  He  laughed.  Then 
conferred.  While  the  confab  was  on,  the 
Countess  Markewicz  slipped  from  Mr.  Walsh's 
car  to  our  paling.  She  was,  as  usual,  dressed 
in  a  "prepared"  style.  She  had  on  her  green 
tweed  suit  with  biscuits  in  the  pockets,  "so  if 
anything  happened." 

Countess  Markewicz,  rubbing  her  hands: 
"Excellent  propaganda!  Excellent  propa- 
ganda!" 

The  motor  lorries  chugged.  Soldiers  broke 
[771 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

line,  and  climbed  in.  The  people  screamed, 
jumped,  waved  their  hands,  and  hurrahed  for 
Walsh.  Mr.  Walsh  returned  to  his  car.  And 
in  the  path  made  by  the  heartily  boohed  motor 
lorries,  the  American's  machine  commenced  its 
victorious  passage  to  the  Mansion  House.  In 
order  to  get  through  the  crowd  to  the  reception 
we  sprang  to  the  rear  of  the  motor.  Clinging 
to  the  dusty  mudguard,  I  remarked  to  Miss 
Pankhurst  that  we  would  not  look  very  parti- 
fied.  And  she,  pushed  about  by  the  tattered 
people,  said  she  did  not  mind.  Long  ago  she 
had  decided  she  would  never  wear  evening 
dresses  because  poor  people  never  have  them. 

Last  act.  Turkish-rugged  and  velvet-por- 
tiered  reception  room  of  the  Mansion  House. 
Assorted  people  shaking  hands  with  the  dele- 
gates. Delegates  filled  with  boyish  glee  at  the 
stagey  turn  of  events. 

Frank  Walsh :  "Look !  There's  Bob  Barton 
talking  to  his  sister.  Out  there  by  the  portrait 
of  Queen  Victoria — see  that  man  in  a  green 

[78] 


SINN  FEIN  AND  REVOLUTION 

uniform.     That's  Michael  Collins  of  the  Irish 
Volunteers  and  minister  of  finance  of  the  Irish 
Republic.     The  very  men  they're  after. 
"Is  this  a  play?    Or  a  dream?" 

1.  British  propaganda,  on  the  contrary,  states  that  the  Irish  are  not  in 
the   physical  agony  of  extreme  poverty.      They  are  prosperous.       They 
made    money    on    munitions,    and    their    exports    increased    enormously 
during  the  war. 

"You  could  eat  shell  as  easily  as  make  it,"  was  one  of  the  first 
parliamentary  rebuffs  received  by  Irishmen  asking  the  establishment  of 
national  munition  factories  at  the  beginning  of  the  war,  according  to 
Edward  J.  Riordan.  Mr.  Riordan  is  secretary  of  the  National  Industrial 
Development  Association.  This  is  a  non-political  organization  of  which 
the  Countess  of  Desart,  the  Earl  of  Carrick,  and  Colonel  Sir  Nugent 
Everard  are  some  of  the  executive  members.  It  was  not  until  1916  that 
Ireland  secured  consideration  of  her  rights  to  a  share  in  the  war  ex- 
penditure. In  that  year,  an  all-Ireland  committee  called  on  Lloyd 
George.  He  said:  "It  is  fair  that  Ireland,  contributing  as  she  does 
not  only  in  money  but  in  flesh  and  blood,  should  have  her  fair  share 
of  expenditure.  ...  I  should  be  prepared  to  utilize  whatever  oppor- 
tunities we  can  to  utilize  the  opportunity  this  gives  you  to  develop 
Ireland  industrially."  After  persistent  effort,  however,  all  that  the  all- 
Ireland  committee  was  able  to  get  was  five  small  munition  factories. 
The  insignificance  of  these  plants  may  be  realised  from  the  fact  that  at 
the  time  the  armistice  was  declared  there  were  only  2,250  workers  in 
them. 

As  to  trade  increase: — when  I  was  in  Ireland  in  1919,  the  last  export 
statistics  given  out  by  the  government  were  for  1916.  In  1914  exports 
were  valued  at  $386,000,000;  in  1916,  at  $535,000,000.  But,  according 
to  the  Board  of  Trade,  prices  had  doubled  in  that  time,  so  that  i/ 
exports  had  remained  stationary,  their  value  should  have  doubled  to 
$772,000,000. 

2.  That    England    controls    this    industrial    situation    was    made    clear 
during  the  war.     Then  ship  tonnage  was  scarce,  and  England's  regular 
resources   of   agricultural   supply   were   cut   off.      So   England   called   on 
Ireland  to  revert  to  agriculture.     Ireland's  tillage  acreage  jumped  from 
2,300,000  in  1914  to  3,280,000  in   1918.     This  change  in  policy  brought 
prosperity  to  some  of  the  farmers,  and  Ireland's  bank  deposits  rose  from 
$310,000,000    in    1913    to    $455,000,000    in    1917.      But    England    is    re- 
establishing   her    former    agricultural    trade    connections.      According   to 
F.    A.    Smiddy,   professor   of   economics   at   University   college,    Cork,   a 
return  to  grazing  has  already  commenced  in  Ireland,  and  "prosperity" 
will  last  at  most  only  two  past-war  years. 

3.  British  taxation  saps  Irish  capital.     The  1916  imperial  annual  tax 
took   $125,000,000   out  of   Ireland   and  put  bacjc   $65,000,000   into   Irish 
administration.     Irishmen  argue  that  the  excess  might  better  go  to  the 
development  of  Ireland.     Figures  supplied   Department  of  Agriculture, 
1919. 


[79.1 


IRISH  LABOR  AND  CLASS 
REVOLUTION 


Ill 

IRISH  LABOR  AND  CLASS 
REVOLUTION 

"A  CHANGE  OF  FLAGS  IS  NOT  ENOUGH." 

IN  THE  sputtering  flare  of  the  arc  lamp  in  front 
of  Liberty  hall  stood  squads  of  boys.  Some 
of  them  wore  brass-buttoned,  green  woolen 
waists,  and  some,  ordinary  cotton  shirts.  Some 
of  them  had  on  uniform  knickers,  and  some, 
long,  unpressed  trousers.  On  the  opposite  side 
of  the  street  were  blocked  similar  squads  of 
serious-eyed,  high-chinned  girls.  Some  of 
them  were  in  green  tweed  suits,  and  others  as 
they  had  come  from  work.  They  were  com- 
panies of  the  Citizens'  Army  recruited  by  the 
Irish  Labor  party,  and  assembled  in  honor  of 
the  return  of  the  Countess  Markewicz  from 
jail. 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND* 

"Though  cowards  flinch  an'd  traitors  sneer, 
We'll  keep  the  red  flag  flying  here." 

Young  voices,  impatient  of  the  interim  of 
waiting,  sang  the  socialist  song.  The  burden 
was  taken  up  by  the  laborers,  whose  constant 
movement  to  keep  a  good  view  was  attested  by 
the  hollow  sound  of  their  wooden-soled  boots 
on  the  stone  walks.  And  the  refrain  was 
hummed  by  the  shawled,  frayed-skirted  crea- 
tures who  were  coming  up  from  Talbot  street, 
Gloucester  street,  Peterson's  lane,  and  all  the 
family-to-a-room  districts  in  Dublin.  On  the 
skeletonish  railroad  crossing  suspended  over 
the  Liffey,  tin-hatted  and  bayonet-carrying 
British  soldiers  were  silhouetted  against  the 
moon-whitened  sky.  Up  to  them  floated  the 
last  oath  of  "The  Red  Flag": 

"With  heads  uncovered  swear  we  all, 
To  bear  it  onward  till  we  fall. 
Come  dungeon  dark  or  gallows  grim, 
This  song  shall  be  our  parting  hymn." 
[84] 


IRISH  LABOR  AND  CLASS  REVOLUTION 

Clattered  over  the  bridge  the  horse-dragged 
brake.  In  the  light  of  a  search  lamp  played  on 
it  from  an  automobile  behind,  a  small  figure  in 
a  slouch  hat  and  a  big  black  coat  waved  a 
bouquet  of  narcissus.  There  was  a  surge  of 
the  block-long  crowds  and  people  who  could  not 
see  lifted  their  hands  and  shouted:  "Up  the 
countess !" 

As  we  waited  in  the  light  of  the  dim  yellow 
bulbs  threaded  from  the  ceiling  of  the  big  bare 
upper  front  room  of  Liberty  Hall,  Susan 
Mitchell  told  me  of  "the  chivalrous  woman." 
The  countess  is  a  daughter  of  the  Gore-Booth 
family  which  owned  its  Sligo  estate  before 
America  was  discovered.  As  a  girl  the  count- 
ess used  to  ride  fast  horses  like  mad  along  the 
rocky  western  coast.  Then  she  became  a  three- 
feathered  debutante  bowing  at  Dublin  Castle. 
Later  she  painted  pictures  in  Paris  and  mar- 
ried her  handsome  Pole.  But  one  day  some 
one  put  an  Irish  history  in  her  hands.  In  a 
sudden  whole-hearted  conversion  to  the  cause 

[851 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

of  the  people,  the  countess  turned  to  aid  the 
Irish  labor  organizers.  She  drilled  boy  scouts 
for  the  Citizens'  Army.  She  fed  starving 
strikers  during  the  labor  troubles  of  1913  with 
sheep  sent  daily  from  her  Sligo  estate.  In  the 
rebellion  of  1916  she  fought  and  killed  under 
Michael  Mallin  of  the  Citizens'  Army.  She 
was  hardly  out  of  jail  for  participation  in  the 
rebellion  when  she  was  clapped  in  again  for 
alleged  complicity  in  the  never-to-be-proved 
German  plot.  While  she  was  in  jail,  she  was 
elected  the  first  woman  member  of  parliament. 

White  from  imprisonment,  her  small  round 
steel-rimmed  glasses  dropping  away  from  her 
blue  eyes,  and  her  curly  brown  hair  wisping  out 
from  under  her  black  felt  hat,  the  countess 
embraced  a  few  of  the  women  in  the  room  and 
exchanged  handclasps  with  the  men.  Below 
the  crowd  was  clamoring  for  her  appearance 
at  the  window. 

"Fellow  rebels !"  she  began  as  she  leaned  out 
into  the  mellow  night.  Then  with  the  apparent 

[86] 


IRISH  LABOR  AND  CLASS  REVOLUTION 

desire  to  say  everything  at  once  that  makes  her 
public  speech  stuttery,  she  continued:  "It's 
good  to  come  out  of  jail  to  this.  It  is  good  to 
come  out  again  to  work  for  a  republic.  Let  us 
all  join  hands  to  make  the  new  republic  a 
workers'  republic.  A  change  of  flags  is  not 
enough !" 

Two  oil  flares  with  orange  flame  throwing 
off  red  sparks  on  the  crowd,  were  fastened  to 
the  brake  below.  It  was  the  brake  that  was  to 
carry  "Madame"  on  her  triumphal  tour  of 
Dublin.  The  boys  of  the  Citizens'  Army  made 
a  human  rope  about  the  conveyance.  In  it  I 
climbed  with  the  countess,  the  plump  little  Mrs. 
James  Connolly,  the  magisterial  Countess 
Plunkett,  Commandant  O'Neill  of  the  Citizens' 
Army,  Sean  Milroy,  who  escaped  from  Lincoln 
jail  with  DeValera,  and  two  or  three  others. 
Rows  of  constables  were  backed  against  the 
walls  at  irregular  intervals.  I  asked  Sean 
Milroy  if  he  were  not  afraid  that  he  would  be 
re- taken,  and  he  responded  comfortably  that 

[87] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

the  "peelers"  would  never  attempt  to  take  a 
political  prisoner  out  of  a  gathering  like  that. 
As  we  neared  the  poverty-smelling  Coombe 
district,  the  countess  remarked  that  this,  St. 
Patrick's,  was  her  constituency.  At  the  shaft 
of  St.  James  fountain,  the  brake  was  halted. 
Shedding  her  long  coat,  and  standing  straight 
in  her  green  tweed  suit,  with  the  plush  seat  of 
the  brake  for  her  floor,  the  countess  told  the 
cheering  workers  that  she  was  going  to  come 
down  to  live  in  the  Coombe.  Heated  with  the 
energy  of  talking  and  throwing  her  body  about 
so  that  her  voice  would  carry  over  the  crowd 
that  circled  her,  the  countess  sank  down  on 
the  seat.  As  the  brake  drove  on,  motherly 
little  Mrs.  Connolly  tried  to  slip  the  big  coat 
over  the  countess.  But  the  countess,  in  one 
of  those  sudden  meditative  silences  during 
which  she  seems  to  retain  only  a  subconscious- 
ness  of  her  surroundings,  refused  the  offer  of 
warmth  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders.  Then, 
emerging  from  her  pre-occupation,  she  de- 
manded of  Sean  Milroy: 

[88] 


IRISH  LABOR  AND  CLASS  REVOLUTION 

"What  have  you  planned  for  your  con- 
stituency? I'm  going  to  have  a  soviet." 

THE  WORKERS'  REPUBLIC 

Like  the  countess,  the  Irish  Labor  party 
wants  a  workers'  republic.  But  it  wants  a 
republic  first. 

The  Irish  Labor  party  has  been  accused  of 
accepting  Russian  roubles,  of  hiding  bags  of 
bolshevik  gold  in  the  basement  of  Liberty  Hall. 
Whether  it  has  taken  Russian  gold  or  not,  it  is 
frankly  desirous  of  possessing  the  Russian 
form  of  government.  James  Connolly,  who  is 
largely  responsible  for  the  present  Labor  party 
in  Ireland,  was,  like  Lenin  and  Trotsky,  a 
Marxian  socialist,  and  worked  for  government 
by  the  proletariat.  The  Irish  Labor  party 
celebrated  the  Russian  revolution  by  calling  a 
"bolshevik"  meeting  and  cheering  under  a  red 
flag  in  the  assembly  room  of  the  Mansion 
House.  And  in  its  last  congress,  it  reaffirmed 
its  "adherence  to  the  principles  of  freedom, 

[89] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

democracy,  and  peace  enunciated  in  the  Rus- 
sian revolution." 

How  strong  are  the  revolutionaries?  The 
Irish  Labor  party  is  new  but  it  already  contains 
about  300,000  members.1  It  plans  to  include 
every  worker  from  the  "white  collar"  to  the 
"muffler"  labor.  And  the  laborers  alone  make 
up  seven-eighths  of  the  population.  For  while 
there  are  just  252,000  members  of  the  profes- 
sional and  commercial  classes,  there  are  4,137,- 
000  who  are  in  agricultural,  industrial  and  in- 
definite classes2 — most  of  the  farmers  are  held 
to  be  laborers  because  outside  the  great  estates, 
holdings  average  at  thirty  acres  and  are 
worked  by  the  holders  themselves.3 

There's  the  revolutionary  rub.  The  Irish 
farmers  make  up  the  largest  body  of  workers 
in  Ireland.  The  Irish  farmer  sweated  and  bled 
for  his  land.  Would  he  yield  it  now  for  nation- 
alization? I  put  the  question  up  to  William 
O'Brien,  the  lame,  never-smiling  tailor  who  is 
secretary  of  the  Irish  Labor  party.  He  said 

[9ol 


IRISH  LABOR  AND  CLASS  REVOLUTION 

that  the  farm  hand  should  be  taken  into  con- 
sideration. 

The  farm  hand  would  profit  by  nationaliza- 
tion. At  present  he  is  condemned  to  slavery. 
At  a  hiring  fair — called  a  "slave  market"  by  the 
labor  unions — he  stands  between  the  mooing 
cows  and  snorting  pigs  and  offers  his  services 
for  sale  for  as  little  as  $100  a  year.  He  may 
wish  to  get  more  money.  But  his  employer  is 
also  very  often  his  landlord.  What  happens? 
In  the  spring  of  1919,  35,000  farm  hands  went 
on  strike.  Lord  Bellew  of  Ballyragget  and 
Lord  Powerscourt  of  Enniskerry  used  the  evic- 
tion threat  to  get  the  men  back  to  work,  and  in 
Rhode,  evictions  actually  took  place. 

The  small  farmer  on  bad  land  would  profit 
by  re-distribution.  Many  such  live  in  the  west 
and  northwest  of  Ireland.  Take  a  farmer  of 
Donegal.  There  there's  stony,  boggy  land. 
Fires  must  be  built  about  the  stones  so  that  the 
soil  will  lose  its  grip  upon  them  and  they 
may  be  hauled  away  to  help  make  fences.  Im- 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

movable  boulders  are  frequent,  so  frequent 
that  the  soil  cannot  be  ploughed  but  must  be 
spaded  by  hand.  Seaweed  for  fertilizer  must 
be  plucked  from  the  rocks  in  the  sea,  carried 
up  the  mountain  side  and  laid  black  and  thick 
in  the  sterile  brown  furrows.  Near  Dungloe 
in  Donegal,  one  holding  of  600  acres  was  re- 
cently valued  at  $10.50,  and  another  of  400  at 
$3.70.  So  the  Labor  party  is  confident  of 
bringing  over  the  farmers  to  its  point  of  view. 
On  the  whole,  it  is  said,  the  way  of  the 
labor  propagandist  is  easy,  for  capital  in  Ire- 
land is  very  weak.  First,  there  is  very  little 
of  it.  In  1917  the  total  income  tax  of  the 
British  Isles  was  £300,000,000;  Ireland 
with  one-tenth  the  population  contributed  only 
one-fortieth  of  the  tax.  In  the  same  year,  the 
total  excess  profits  tax  was  £290,000,000  and 
Ireland's  proportion  was  slightly  less  than  for 
the  income  tax.4  Second,  what  capital  there  is, 
is  not  effectively  organized.  The  first  national 
commercial  association  is  just  forming  in 
Dublin. 

[92] 


IRISH  LABOR  AND  CLASS  REVOLUTION 

Whether  the  future  prove  the  numerical 
strength  of  labor  or  not,  the  leaders  are  de- 
termined that  labor  will  be  organically  strong. 
It  is  developing  a  pyramid  form  of  govern- 
ment. Irish  labor  fosters  the  "one  big  union." 
In  some  towns  all  the  labor,  from  teachers  to 
dock-workers,  have  already  coalesced.  These 
unions  select  their  district  heads.  The  district 
heads  are  subsidiary  to  the  general  head  in 
Dublin.  When  each  union  inside  the  big  union 
is  ready  to  take  over  its  industry,  and  their 
'district  and  general  heads  are  ready  to  take 
over  government  there  will  be  a  general  strike 
for  this  end.  The  strike  will  be  supported  by 
the  army — the  Citizens'  Army  of  the  workers. 

"There  you  have,"  said  James  Connolly,  who 
promoted  the  one  big  union,  "not  only  the  most 
effective  combination  for  industrial  warfare, 
but  also  for  the  social  administration  of  the 
future."5 

"Certainly  we  mean  to  take  over  industry  by 
force  if  necessary,"  affirmed  Thomas  Johnson, 

[93] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

treasurer  of  the  Irish  Labor  party.  He  is  a 
big-browed  man  with  thick,  pompadoured, 
gray  hair,  and  the  aspect  of  a  live  professor. 
Some  people  call  him  the  coming  leader  of 
Ireland.  In  answer  to  my  statement  that  it 
wouldn't  be  a  very  hard  job  to  take  over  Irish 
industry,  he  smiled  and  said:  "That's  why 
we  welcome  the  entrance  of  outside  capital  into 
Ireland.  The  more  industry  is  developed,  the 
less  we  will  have  to  do  afterward." 

THE  REPUBLIC  FIRST 

Labor  agrees  with  Sinn  Fein  not  only  that 
Irish  industry  must  be  developed  but  also  that 
Ireland  must  have  independence.  After  the 
national  war,  the  class  war  must  come.  First 
freedom  from  exploitation  by  capitalistic  na- 
tions, and  then  freedom  from  capitalistic  indi- 
viduals. Many  socialists,  it  is  said,  do  not 
understand  why  Ireland  should  not  plunge  at 
once  into  the  class  war.  It  was  a  matter  of 
regret  to  James  Connolly  that  many  of  his 

[94] 


IRISH  LABOR  AND  CLASS  REVOLUTION 

fellow  socialists  the  world  over  would  never 
understand  his  participation  in  the  rebellion  of 
1916.  Nora  Connolly,  the  smiling  boy-like  girl 
who  smokes  and  works  by  a  grate  in  Liberty 
Hall,  says  that  on  the  eve  of  his  execution, 
when  he  lay  in  bed  with  his  leg  shattered  by  a 
gun  wound,  her  father  said  to  her:  "The 
socialists  will  never  understand  why  I  am  here. 
They  all  forget  I  am  an  Irishman." 

But  James  Connolly's  fellow  socialists  in 
Ireland  understand  "why  he  was  there."  They 
back  his  participation  in  the  national  war. 
And  they  know  every  Irishman  will.  So  they 
go  to  the  workers  and  say:  "Jim  iConnolly 
died  to  make  Ireland  free."  Then  while  the 
workers  cheer,  they  swiftly  show  why  Connolly 
advocated  the  class  war,  too:  "Jim  Con- 
nolly lived  to  make  Ireland  free.  He  believed 
that  the  world  is  for  the  man  who  works 
in  it,  but  in  Ireland  he  saw  seven-eighths  of 
the  people  in  the  working  class,  and  he  knew 
that  to  these  people  life  means  crowded  one- 

[951 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

room  homes,  endless  Fridays,  no  schools  or 
virtually  none,  and  churches  where  resignation 
is  preached  to  them.  So  his  life  was  a  danger- 
ous fight  to  organize  workers  that  they  might 
become  strong  enough  to  take  what  is  theirs." 
At  Liberty  Hall,  one  is  told  that  the  martyr's 
name  is  magnetizing  the  masses  into  the  Irish 
Labor  party.  And,  in  order  to  propagate  his 
ideas,  the  people  are  contributing  their  coppers 
towards  a  fund  for  the  permanent  establish- 
ment of  the  James  Connolly  Labor  College. 

So  labor  fights  for  a  republic  first.  At  the 
last  general  elections  it  withdrew  all  its  labor 
party  candidates  that  the  Sinn  Fein  candidates 
might  have  a  clear  field  to  demonstrate  to  the 
world  how  unified  is  Irish  sentiment  in  favor 
of  a  republic.  And  at  the  International  Labor 
and  Socialist  conference  held  in  Berne  in  1919, 
Cathal  O'  Shannon,  the  bright  young  labor 
leader  who  goes  about  with  his  small  frame 
swallowed  up  in  an  overcoat  too  big  for  him, 
made  this  declaration : 

[96] 


IRISH  LABOR  AND  CLASS  REVOLUTION 

"Irish  labor  reaffirms  its  declaration  in  favor 
of  free  and  absolute  self-determination  of  each 
and  every  people,  the  Irish  included,  in  choos- 
ing the  sovereignty  and  form  of  government 
under  which  it  shall  live.  It  rejoices  that  this 
self-determination  has  now  been  assured  to 
the  Jugo-Slavs,  Czecho-Slovaks,  Alsatians  and 
Lorrainers,  as  well  as  to  the  Finns,  Poles, 
Ukrainians,  and  now  to  the  Arabs.  This  is  not 
enough  and  it  is  not  impartial.  To  be  one  and 
the  other,  this  principle  must  also  be  applied 
in  the  same  sense  and  under  the  same  con- 
ditions to  the  peoples  of  Ireland,  India,  Egypt, 
and  to  such  other  people  as  have  not  yet 
secured  the  exercise  of  the  inherent  right. 
.  .  .  Irish  labor  claims  no  more  and  no 
less  for  Ireland  than  for  the  others." 

After  the  republic,  a  workers'  republic? 
After  Sinn  Fein,  the  Labor  party?  Madame 
Markewicz  is  high  in  the  councils  of  both  Sinn 
Fein  and  Labor.  One  day,  lost  in  one  of  her 
trance-like  meditations  in  which  she  states  her 

[971 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

intuitions    with    absolute   disregard   of    expe- 
diency, she  said  to  me : 

"Labor  will  swamp  Sinn  Fein." 

1.  Figures  supplied  by  William  O'Brien,  secretary  Irish  Labor  party 
and  Trade  Union  congress,  1919. 

2.  Census  of  1911. 

3.  Figures  supplied  by  Department  of  Agriculture  of  Ireland,   1919. 

4.  Figures  read  by  Thomas  Lough,  M.P.,  in  House  of  Commons,  May 
14,  1918. 

5.  "Reconquest  of  Ireland."    By  James  Connolly-     Mamisel  and  Com- 
pany.    1917.     P.  328. 


[98] 


-AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION. 


IV 

AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION 
"THE  CO-OPERATIVE  COMMONWEALTH" 

IT  WAS  very  dark.  I  could  not  find  the  num- 
ber. The  flat-faced  little  row  of  houses  was 
set  far  back  on  the  green.  But  at  last  I 
mounted  some  lofty  steps,  and  entered  a  brown 
linoleum-covered  hallway.  In  the  front  parlor 
sat  the  hostess.  She  was  like  some  family 
portrait  with  her  hair  parted  and  drawn  over 
her  ears,  with  her  black  taffeta  gown  sur- 
mounted by  a  cameo-pinned  lace  collar.  She 
poured  tea.  In  a  back  parlor  whose  walls  were 
hung  with  unframed  paintings,  a  big  brown- 
bearded  man  was  passing  teacups  to  women 
who  were  lounging  in  chairs  and  to  men  who 
stood  black  against  the  red  glow  of  the  grate. 
The  big;  man  was  George  Russell,  the  famous 

[101] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

AE,  poet,  painter  and  philosopher,  the  "north 
star  of  Ireland." 

At  last  he  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  a  chair — 
his  blue  eyes  at  winkle  as  if  he  knew  some  good 
secret  of  the  happy  end  of  human  struggling 
and  was  only  waiting  the  proper  moment  to 
tell.  This  much  he  did  reveal  as  he  gestured 
with  the  pipe  that  was  more  often  in  his  hand 
than  in  his  mouth :  it  is  his  belief  that  all  acts 
purposed  for  good  work  out  towards  good.  He 
gives  ear  to  all  sincere  radicals,  Sinn  Feiners 
and  "Reds."  But  he  states  that  he  believes 
he  is  the  only  living  pacifist,  and  disputes  the 
value  of  bloody  methods.  He  advocates  the 
peaceful  revolution  of  co-operation.  His  pow- 
erfully gentle  personality  has  an  undoubted 
effect  on  the  revolutionaries,  and  while  neither 
element  wants  to  embrace  pacifism,  both  want 
AE's  revolution  to  go  forward  with  theirs. 

His  gaiety  at  the  little  Sunday  evenings 
which  he  holds  quite  regularly,  goes  far,  I  am 
told,  towards  easing  the  strain  on  the  taut 

[102] 


AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION 

nerves  of  the  Sinn  Fein  intellectuals  who  at- 
tend them.  On  the  Sunday  evening  I  was 
present  the  subject  of  jail  journals  was 
broached.  Darrell  Figgis  had  just  written  one. 
In  a  dim  corner  of  the  room  was  miniatured 
the  ivory  face  and  the  red  gold  beard  of  the 
much  imprisoned  Figgis. 

"Why  write  a  jail  journal?"  queried  AE, 
smiling  towards  the  corner.  "The  rare  book, 
the  book  that  bibliophiles  will  pray  to  find 
twenty  years  from  now,  will  be  written  by  an 
Irishman  who  never  went  to  jail." 

Some  one,  I  think  that  it  was  "Jimmy" 
Stephens,  author  of  "The  Crock  of  Gold,"  who 
sat  cross-legged  on  the  end  of  a  worn  wicker 
chaise  longue  and  talked  with  all  the  facility 
with  which  he  writes,  mentioned  the  countess's 
plan  of  living  in  the  Coombe  district.  AE  re- 
turned that  as  far  as  he  knew  the  countess  was 
the  only  member  of  parliament  who  felt  called 
upon  to  live  with  her  constituency. 

Then  suddenly  the  whole  room  seemed  to 
[103] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

join  a  chorus  of  protest  against  President 
Wilson.  At  the  Peace  Conference  all  power 
was  his.  He  was  backed  by  the  richest,  great- 
est nation  in  the  world.  But  he  failed  to  keep 
his  promise  of  gaining  the  self-determination 
of  small  nations.  Was  he  yielding  to  the  anti- 
Irish  sentiment  brought  about  by  English  con- 
trol of  the  cables  and  English  propaganda  in 
the  United  States — was  he  to  let  his  great  re- 
public be  intellectually  dependent  on  the  ancient 
monarchy  ? 

"Perhaps,"  said  AE  to  me  after  a  few 
meditative  puffs  of  his  pipe,  "you  feel  like  the 
American  who  was  with  us  on  a  similar  occa- 
sion a  few  weeks  ago.  At  last  he  burst  out 
with:  'It's  no  conception  which  Americans 
have  of  their  president  that  he  should  take  the 
place  and  the  duties  of  God  Omnipotent  in  the 
world/  " 

One  day  I  went  to  discuss  Irish  labor  with 
AE.  I  climbed  up  to  that  most  curious  of  all 
magazine  offices — the  Irish  Homestead  office. 

[104] 


AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION 

up  under  the  roof  of  Plunkett  House.  It  is  a 
semi-circular  room  whose  walls  are  covered 
with  the  lavender  and  purple  people  of  AE's 
brush.  AE  was  ambushed  behind  piles  of 
newspapers,  and  behind  him  in  a  grate  filled 
with  smouldering  peat  blocks  sat  the  black  tea 
kettle.  As  a  reporter,  one  of  the  few  things  for 
which  I  am  allowed  to  retain  respect  is  the 
editorial  dead  line.  So  I  assured  AE  that  I 
would  be  glad  to  return  when  he  had  finished 
writing.  But  with  a  courtesy  that  is  evidently 
founded  on  an  inversion  of  the  American  rule 
that  business  should  always  come  before  peo- 
ple, he  assured  me  that  he  could  sit  down  at 
the  fire  with  me  at  once. 

Now  I  knew  that  he  had  great  sympathy 
with  laborers.  I  recalled  his  terrible  letter 
against  Dublin  employers  in  the  great  strike 
of  1913  when  he  foretold  that  the  success  of 
the  employers  in  starving  the  Dublin  poor 
would  necessarily  lead  to  "red  ruin  and  the 
breaking  up  of  laws.  .  .  .  The  men  whose 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

manhood  you  have  broken  will  loathe  you,  and 
will  always  be  brooding  and  seeking  to  strike 
a  new  blow.  The  children  will  be  taught  to 
curse  you.  The  infant  being  moulded  in  the 
womb  will  have  breathed  into  its  starved  body 
the  vitality  of  hate.  It  is  not  they — it  is  you 
who  are  pulling  down  the  pillars  of  the  social 
order."1  But  I  knew,  too,  that  he  was  opposed 
to  violence,  so  I  wondered  what  he  would  say 
to  this : 

"A  labor  leader  just  told  me  that  it  was  his 
belief  that  industrial  revolution  would  take 
place  in  Ireland  in  two  or  three  years.  Labor 
waits  only  till  it  has  secured  greater  unity  be- 
tween the  north  and  south.  Then  it  will  take 
over  industry  and  government  by  force." 

"I  had  hoped — I  am  trying  to  convince  the 
labor  leaders  here,"  he  said  finally,  "of  the 
value  of  the  Italian  plan  for  the  taking  over  of 
industry.  The  Italian  seaman's  union  co-op- 
eratively purchased  and  ran  boats  on  which 
they  formerly  had  been  merely  workers." 

[io6J 


AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION 

Russia  he  spoke  of  for  a  moment.  People 
shortly  over  from  Russia  told  him,  as  he  had 
felt,  that  the  soviet  was  not  the  dreadful  thing 
it  was  made  out  to  be.  But  a  dictatorship  of 
the  workers  he  would  not  like.  He  wanted,  he 
said  with  an  upward  movement  of  his  big  arms, 
he  wanted  to  be  free. 

"Now  I  am  for  the  building  of  a  co-opera- 
tive commonwealth  on  co-operative  societies. 
Ireland  can  and  is  developing  her  own  indus- 
tries through  co-operation.  She  is  developing 
them  without  aid  from  England  and  in  the  face 
of  opposition  in  Ireland. 

"England,  you  see,  is  used  to  dealing  with 
problems  of  empire — with  nations  and  great 
metropolises.  When  we  bring  her  plans  that 
mean  life  or  death  to  just  villages,  the  matter 
is  too  small  to  discuss.  She  is  bored. 

"Ireland  offers  opposition  in  the  person  of 
the  'gombeen  man.'  He  is  the  local  trader  and 
money  lender.  And  co-operative  buying  and 
selling  takes  away  his  monopoly  of  business. 

[107] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND?1 

"Paddy  Gallagher  up  in  Dungloe  in  the 
Rosses  will  give  you  an  idea  of  the  poverty  of 
the  Irish  countryside,  of  the  extent  that  the 
poverty  is  due  to  the  gombeen  men,  'the  bosses 
of  the  Rosses,'  and  of  the  ability  of  the  co- 
operative society  to  develop  and  create  industry 
even  in  such  a  locality. 

"Societies  like  Paddy  Gallagher's  are  spring- 
ing up  all  over  Ireland.  The  rapid  growth  may 
be  estimated  from  the  fact  that  in  1902  their 
trade  turnover  was  $7,500,000,  and  in  1918, 
$50,000,000.  These  little  units  do  not  merely 
develop  industry;  they  also  bind  up  the  eco- 
nomic and  social  interests  of  the  people. 

"In  a  few  years  these  new  societies  and 
others  to  be  created  will  have  dominated  their 
districts,  and  political  power  will  follow,  and 
we  will  have  new  political  ideals  based  on  a 
democratic  control  of  agriculture  and  indus- 
try, and  states  and  people  will  move  harmoni- 
ously to  a  given  end. 

"Ireland  might  attain,  by  orderly  evolution, 
[io81 


'AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION 

to  a  co-operative  commonwealth  in  fifty  to  two 
hundred  years. 

"But  these  are  dangerous  times  for  proph- 
ecy." 

PADDY  GALLAGHER:  GIANT  KILLER. 

From  the  dark  niche  under  the  gray  boulder 
where  the  violets  grow,  a  Donegal  fairy  flew 
to  the  mountain  cabin  to  bring  a  birthday  wish 
to  Patrick  Gallagher.  The  fairy  designed  not 
that  great  good  would  come  to  Paddy,  but  that 
great  good  would  come  to  his  people  through 
him.  At  least  when  Paddy  grew  up,  he  slew 
the  child-eating  giant,  Poverty,  who  lived  in 
Donegal. 

Paddy  began  to  fight  poverty  when  he  could 
scarcely  toddle.  With  his  father,  whose  back 
was  laden  with  a  great  rush  basket,  he  used  to 
pad  in  his  bare  feet  down  the  mountainside  to 
the  Dungloe  harbor — clown  where  the  hills  give 
the  ocean  a  black  embrace.  Father  and  son 
would  wade  into  the  ocean  that  was  pink  and 

[109! 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

lavender  in  the  sunset.  Above  them,  the  white 
curlews  swooped  and  curved  and  opened  their 
pine  wood  beaks  to  squawk  a  prayer  for  dead 
fish.  But  the  workers  did  not  stop  to  watch. 
Their  food  also  was  in  question.  They  must 
pluck  the  black  seaweed  to  fertilize  their  field. 
When  the  early  sun  bronzed  the  bog,  and 
streaked  the  dark  pool  below  with  gold,  Paddy 
and  his  father  began  to  feed  the  dried  wavy 
strands  of  kelp  between  the  hungry  brown  fur- 
row lips.  They  packed  the  long  groove  near 
the  stone  fence;  they  rounded  past  the  big 
boulder  that  could  not  be  budged;  last  of  all, 
they  filled  the  short  far  row  in  the  strangely 
shaped  little  field.  At  noon,  Paddy's  mother 
appeared  at  the  half  door  of  the  cabin  and 
called  in  the  general  direction  of  the  field — it 
was  difficult  to  see  them,  for  their  frieze  suits 
had  been  dyed  in  bog  water  and  she  could  not 
at  once  distinguish  them  from  the  brown  earth. 
They  were  glad  to  come  in  to  eat  their  sugar- 
less and  creamless  oatmeal. 

[no] 


AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION 

In  the  evening  Paddy  ran  over  the  road  to 
his  cousin's.  Western  clouds  were  blackening 
and  his  little  cousin  was  pulling  the  pig  into  the 
cabin  as  a  man  puts  other  sort  of  treasure  out 
of  danger  into  a  safe.  Paddy  listened  a  mo- 
ment. He  could  hear  the  castanets  of  the  tweed 
weaver's  loom  and  the  hum  of  his  uncle's  deep 
voice  as  he  sang  at  his  work.  He  ran  to  the 
rear  of  the  cabin  and  up  the  stone  steps  to  the 
little  addition.  A  lantern  filled  the  room  he  en- 
tered with  black,  harp-like  shadows  of  the  loom. 
While  the  uncle  stopped  treadling  and  held  the 
blue-tailed  shuttle  in  his  hand,  the  breathless 
little  boy  told  him  that  the  field  was  finished. 

"God  grant,"  said  the  uncle  with  a  solemnity 
that  put  fear  into  the  heart  of  Paddy,  "there 
may  be  a  harvest  for  you." 

Paddy  watched  his  mother  work  ceaselessly 
to  aid  in  the  fight  that  his  father  and  he  were 
making  against  poverty.  During  the  month 
her  needles  would  click  unending  wool  into 
socks,  and  then  on  Saturday  she  would  trudge 

[in] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

— often  in  a  stiff  Atlantic  gale — sixteen  miles 
to  the  market  in  Strabane.  There  she  sold  the 
socks  at  a  penny  a  pair. 

In  spite  of  combined  hopes,  the  potato  plants 
were  floppily  yellow  that  year.  Their  stems 
felt  like  a  dead  man's  ringers.  No  potatoes  to 
eat.  None  to  exchange  for  meal.  What  were 
they  to  do? 

The  gombeen  man  told  them.  As  member 
of  the  county  council,  he  said,  he  would  secure 
money  for  the  repair  of  the  roads.  All  those 
who  worked  on  the  road  would  get  paid  in 
meal. 

"Let  your  da'  not  worry,"  said  the  fat  gom- 
been man  pompously  to  Paddy.  Paddy  had 
brought  the  ticket  that  his  father  had  obtained 
by  a  \veek's  work  to  exchange  for  twenty-eight 
pounds  of  corn  meal.  "I'll  keep  famine  from 
the  parish.  Charity's  not  dead  yet." 

When  Paddy  lugged  the  meal  into  the  cabin, 
he  found  his  mother  lying  on  the  bed  with  her 
face  averted  from  the  bowl  of  milk  that  some 

[112] 


rAE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION 

less  hungry  neighbor  had  brought  in.  His 
father's  gaunt  frame  was  hunched  over  the  peat 
blocks  on  the  flat  hearth.  Paddy,  full  of  de- 
sire to  banish  the  brooding  discouragement 
from  the  room,  hastened  to  repeat  the  words 
of  the  gombeen  man.  But  he  felt  that  he  had 
failed  when  his  father,  regarding  the  two  stone 
sack,  said  hollowly: 

"Charity?  Small  pay  to  the  men  who  keep 
the  roads  open  for  his  vans." 

In  the  spring,  Paddy  was  nine,  and  had  to 
go  out  in  the  world  to  fight  poverty  alone.  His 
father  had  confided  to  him  that  they  were  in 
great  debt  to  the  gombeen  man.  Paddy  could 
help  them  get  out.  There  was  to  be  a  hiring 
fair  in  Strabane.  Paddy  swung  along  the  road 
to  Strabane  pretending  he  was  a  man — he  was 
to  be  hired  out  just  like  one.  But  when  he 
arrived  at  the  hiring  field  he  shrank  back.  All 
the  farm  hands,  big  and  little,  stood  herded  to- 
gether in  between  the  cattle  pens.  A  man?  A 
beast.  One  overseer  for  a  big;  estate  came  up 

[113] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

to  dicker  for  the  boy,  and  said  he  would  give 
him  fifteen  dollars  for  six  months'  work. 
Paddy  was  just  about  to  muster  up  courage  to 
put  the  price  up  a  bit,  when  a  friend  of  the 
overseer  came  up  with  the  prearranged  re- 
mark: "A  fine  boy!  Well  worth  twelve  dol- 
lars the  six  months !" 

"What  do  you  want  to  know  for?"  asked  the 
gombeen  man,  when  at  the  end  of  Paddy's  back- 
breaking  six  months,  Paddy  and  his  father 
brought  him  the  fifteen  dollars  and  asked  how 
much  they  still  owed.  The  gombeen  man  re- 
fuses accounts  to  everyone  but  the  priest,  mag- 
istrate, doctor  and  teacher.  "What  do  you 
want  to  know  how  much  you  owe  for  ?  Unless 
you  want  to  pay  me  all  off?'* 

When  Paddy  was  seventeen  he  made  a  still 
bigger  fight  against  debt.  With  the  sons  of 
other  "tied"  men,  he  went  to  work  in  the  Scot- 
tish harvests.  His  family  was  not  as  badly  off 
as  those  of  some  of  the  boys.  Some  had  run 
so  far  behind  that  the  gombeen  man  had  served 


AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION 

writs  on  them,  obtained  judgment  against  their 
holdings,  and  could  evict  them  at  pleasure. 

When  Paddy  married  and  settled  down  in 
Dungloe  he  found  the  reason  for  the  unpay- 
ableness  of  the  debt.  One  day  he  and  his  father 
shopped  at  the  gombeen  store  together.  They 
bought  the  same  amount  of  meal.  The  father 
paid  cash — seventeen  shillings.  Forty-four  days 
later,  Paddy  brought  his  money.  But  the  gom- 
been man  presented  him  with  a  bill  for  twenty- 
one  shillings  and  three  pence.  It  did  no  good  to 
say  how  much  the  father  had  paid  for  the  same 
amount  of  meal.  The  gombeen  man  insisted 
that  Paddy's  father  had  given  eighteen  shil- 
lings, and  Paddy  was  being  charged  just  three 
shillings  and  three  pence  interest.  Or  only  144 
per  cent  per  annum! 

"Why  do  we  buy  from  him  ?  Why  don't  we 
get  together  and  do  our  own  buying?"  asked 
the  insurgent  Paddy.  After  much  reflection  he 
had  decided  on  the  tactics  of  his  campaign 
against  poverty  and  the  recruiting  for  his  army 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

commenced  that  night  as  the  neighbors  visited 
about  his  turf  fire.  There  was  doubt  on  the 
faces  of  those  tied  to  the  gombeen  man.  But 
Paddy  continued :  "Let's  try  it  out  in  a  small 
way,  say  with  fertilizer.  That  stuff  he's  sell- 
ing us  isn't  as  good  as  kelp,  and  he  won't  tell 
us  what  it's  made  of/' 

The  recruits  fell  in.  They  scraped  up 
enough  money  to  buy  a  twenty-ton  load  of  rich 
manure  from  a  neighboring  co-operative  soci- 
ety. The  little  deal  saved  them  $200  and 
brought  them  heavy  crops.  They  organized. 
They  needed  a  store.  Up  in  a  rocky  boreen  on 
his  little  farm,  Paddy  had  an  empty  sheH. 
Again  the  neighbors  explored  the  toes  of  their, 
money  stockings,  and  found  enough  to  pay  for 
filling  the  shed  with  flour,  tea,  sugar  and  meal. 
Then,  if  they  were  "free"  men,  they  came 
boldly  to  shop  on  the  nights  the  store  was  open 
— moonlight  or  no  moonlight.  But  if  they  were 
"tied"  men,  they  crept  fearsomely;  up  the  rocks 
on  dark  nights  only.  The  recruits  recruited. 

["6.1 


'AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION 

Financial  and  social  returns  began  to  come  in. 
At  the  end  of  the  first  year  there  was  a  clear 
profit  of  over  $500.  In  three  years  the 
society  was  recognized  as  one  of  the  most 
efficient  in  Ireland  and  presented  by  the  Pem- 
broke fund  with  a  fine  stucco  hall.  Jigs. 
Dances.  Lectures. 

But  the  gombeen  man  wasn't  "taking  it  lying 
down."  He  called  on  his  political  and  religious 
friends  to  aid.  First  on  the  magistrate.  When 
Paddy  became  the  political  rival  of  the  gom- 
been man  for  the  county  council,  there  was  a 
joint  debate.  Paddy  used  reduced  prices  as  his 
argument.  Questions  were  hurled  at  him  by 
the  reddening  trader. 

"Wait  till  I  get  through,"  said  Paddy.  "Then 
I'll  attend  to  you." 

That,  said  the  trader,  was  a  physical  threat ! 
So  the  gombeener's  friend,  the  magistrate, 
threw  Paddy  into  jail.  Paddy  went  to  prison 
full  of  fear  that  dissension  might  be  sown  in 
the  society's  ranks.  But  on  coming  out  he  dis- 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

covered  not  only  that  he  had  won  the  election 
but  that  a  committee  was  waiting  to  present 
him  with  a  gorgeous  French  gilt  clock,  and  that 
fires,  just  as  on  St.  John's  eve,  were  blazing  on 
the  mountains. 

But  the  trader  took  another  friend  of  his 
aside.  This  time  it  was  the  village  priest.  Bad 
dances,  he  said,  were  going  on  of  nights  in 
Templecrone  hall.  What  was  Paddy's  surprise 
on  a  Sunday  in  the  windswept  chapel  by  the 
sea  to  hear  his  beloved  hall  denounced  as  a 
place  of  sin.  Paddy  knew  the  people  would  not 
come  any  more. 

Then,  the  great  inspiration.  Paddy  remem- 
bered how  his  mother  used  to  try  to  help  with 
her  knitting.  He  saw  girls  at  spinning  wheels 
or  looms  working  full  eight  hours  a  day  and 
earning  only  $1.25  to  $1.50  a  week.  So  with 
permission  of  the  society,  Paddy  had  two  long 
tables  placed  in  the  entertainment  hall,  and 
along  the  edges  of  the  tables  he  had  the  latest 
type  of  knitting  machines  screwed.  Soon  there 


AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION 

were  about  300  girls  working  on  a  seven  and 
a  half  hour  day.  They  were  paid  by  the  piece, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  they  were  getting 
wages  that  ran  from  $17.50  to  $5.25  a  week. 
Incidentally,  Mr.  Gallagher,  as  manager,  gave 
himself  only  $10.00  a  week. 

When  I  saw  Patrick  Gallagher  in  Dungloe, 
he  was  dressed  in  a  blue  suit  and  a  soft  gray 
cap,  and  looked  not  unlike  the  keen  sort  of  busi- 
ness men  one  sees  on  an  ocean  liner.  And  in- 
deed he  gave  the  impression  that  if  he  had  not 
been  a  co-operationist  for  Ireland,  he  might 
well  have  been  a  capitalist  in  America.  He 
took  me  up  the  main  street  of  Dungloe  into 
easily  the  busiest  of  the  white  plastered  shops. 
He  made  plain  the  hints  of  growing  industry. 
The  bacon  cured  in  Dungloe.  The  egg-weigh- 
ing— since  weighing  was  introduced  the  farm- 
ers worked  to  increase  the  size  of  the  eggs  and 
the  first  year  increased  their  sales  $15,000 
worth.  The  rentable  farm  machines. 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

"Come  out  into  this  old  cabin  and  meet  our 
baker,"  Paddy  continued  when  we  went  out 
the  rear  of  the  store.  "We  began  to  get  bread 
from  Londonderry,  but  the  old  Lough  Swilly 
road  is  too  uncertain.  See  the  ancient  Scotch 
oven — the  coals  are  placed  in  the  oven  part  and 
when  they  are  still  hot  they  are  scooped  out 
and  the  bread  is  put  in  their  place.  Interest- 
ing, isn't  it?  But  we  are  going  to  get  a  modern 
slide  oven." 

After  viewing  the  orchard  and  the  beehives 
beneath  the  trees,  I  remarked  on  the  size  of  the 
plant,  and  its  suitability  for  his  purpose.  He 
said: 

"It  used  to  belong  to  the  gombeen  man." 

The  sea  wind  was  blowing  through  the  open 
windows  of  the  mill.  Barefoot  girls — it's  only 
on  Sunday  that  Donegal  country  girls  wear 
shoes  and  then  they  put  them  on  only  when 
they  are  quite  near  church — silently  needled 
khaki-worsted  over  the  shining  wire  prongs. 

[1201 


'AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION 

Others  spindled  wool  for  new  work.  As  they 
stood  or  sat  at  their  work,  the  shy  colleens  told 
of  an  extra  room  added  to  a  cabin,  or  a  plump 
sum  to  a  dowry  through  the  money  earned  at 
the  mill.  None  of  them  was  planning,  as  their 
older  sisters  had  had  to  plan,  to  go  to  Scotland 
or  America. 

"As  the  parents  of  most  of  the  girls  are 
members  in  the  society  they  want  the  best 
working  conditions  possible  for  them,"  said 
Mr.  Gallagher  as  he  took  me  out  the  back  en- 
trance of  the  knitting  mill.  "So  we're  build- 
ing this  new  factory.  See  that  hole  where  we 
blasted  for  granite ;  we  got  enough  for  the  en- 
tire mill  in  one  blast.  That  motor  is  for  the 
electricity  to  be  used  in  the  plant. 

"Northern  sky  lights  in  the  new  building — 
the  evenest  light  comes  from  the  north.  Ce- 
ment floor — good  for  cleaning  but  bad  for  the 
girls,  so  we  are  to  have  cork  matting  for  them 
to  stand  on.  Slide-in  seats  under  the  tables — 

[121] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

that's  so  that  a  girl  may  stand  or  sit  at  her 
work." 

"Soon  the  hall  will  be  free  for  entertainments 
again,"  I  suggested.  "Won't  the  old  cry  be 
raised  against  it  once  more?" 

"No.    We're  too  strong  for  that  now." 

At  the  Gallaghers'  home,  a  sort  of  store-like 
place  on  the  main  street,  Mrs.  Gallagher  with 
a  soft  shawl  about  her  shoulders  was  waiting 
to  introduce  me  to  Miss  Hester.  Miss  Hester 
was  brought  to  Dungloe  by  the  co-operative 
society  to  care  for  the  mothers  at  child-birth. 
She  is  the  first  nurse  who  ever  came  to  work 
in  Donegal. 

But  Mr.  Gallagher  wanted  to  talk  more  of 
Dungloe's  attainment  and  ambition.  He  com- 
pared the  trade  turnover  of  $5,045  for  the  first 
year  of  the  society  with  $375,000  for  1918.  But 
there  were  more  things  to  be  done.  The  finest 
herring  in  the  world  swim  the  Donegal  coast. 
Scots  catch  it.  Irish  buy  it.  Dungloe  men 

[122] 


AE'S  PEACEFUL  REVOLUTION 

wanted  to  fish,  but  the  gombeen  man  would 
never  lend  money  to  promote  industry.  Other 
plans  for  the  development  of  Dungloe  were  dis- 
cussed, but  the  expense  of  the  cartage  of  sur- 
plus products  on  the  toy  Lough  Swilly  road, 
and  the  impossibility  of  getting  freight  boats 
into  the  undredged  harbor,  were  lead  to  rising 
ambition. 

"Parliament  is  not  interested  in  public  im- 
provements for  Dungloe,"  smiled  Mr.  Galla- 
gher. "I  suppose  if  I  were  a  British  member 
of  parliament  I  would  not  want  to  hand  out 
funds  for  the  projection  of  a  harbor  in  a  far- 
away place  like  this.  Irish  transportation  will 
not  be  taken  in  hand  until  Ireland  can  control 
her  own  economic  policy." 

As  the  darkness  closed  in  about  our  little 
fire  the  talk  turned  somehow  to  tales  of  the 
fairies  of  Donegal,  and  Mr.  Gallagher 
chuckled : 

"Some  persons  about  here  still  believe  in  the 
good  people." 

[123] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

Then  gentle  Mrs.  Gallagher,  conscious  of  a 
benevolent  force  close  at  hand,  began  simply: 
"Well,  don't  you  think  perhaps — " 

1.  "To  tke  Masters  of  Dublin— An  Open  Letter."     By  AE.  The  Irish 
Times,  Oct.  17,  1913. 


[THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND 
COMMUNISM 


V 

THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND 
COMMUNISM 

THE  LIMERICK  SOVIET 

A  SOVIET  supported  by  the  Catholic  Church — 
that  was  the  singular  spectacle  I  found  when 
I  broke  through  the  military  cordon  about  the 
proclaimed  city  of  Limerick. 

The  city  had  been  proclaimed  for  this  rea- 
son :  Robert  Byrne,  son  of  a  Limerick  business 
man,  had  been  imprisoned  for  political  reasons. 
He  fell  ill  from  the  effects  of  a  hunger  strike,1 
and  was  sent  to  the  hospital  in  the  Limerick 
workhouse.  A  "rescue  party"  was  formed.  In 
the  melee  that  followed,  Robert  Byrne  and  a 
constable  were  killed.  Then  according  to  a  mil- 
itary order,  Limerick  was  proclaimed  because 
of  "the  attack  by  armed  men  on  police  con- 

[127] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

stables  and  the  brutal  murder  of  one  of  them." 
At  Limerick  Junction  we  were  locked  in  our 
compartments.  There  were  few  on  the  train. 
Two  or  three  school  boys  with  their  initialed 
school  caps.  Two  or  three  women  drinking  tea 
from  the  wicker  train  baskets  supplied  at  the 
junction.  In  the  yards  of  the  Limerick  sta- 
tion, the  train  came  to  a  dead  stop.  Then  the 
conductor  unlocked  compartments,  while  a 
kilted  Scotch  officer,  with  three  bayonet-carry- 
ing soldiers  behind  him,  asked  for  permits.  At 
last  we  were  pulled  into  the  station  filled  with 
empty  freight  trucks  and  its  guard  of  soldiers. 
Through  the  dusk  beyond  the  rain  was  slith- 
ering. 

"Sorry.  No  cab,  miss,"  said  a  constable. 
"The  whole  city's  on  strike." 

That  explained  my  inability  to  get  Limerick 
on  the  wire.  From  Kildare  I  had  been  trying 
all  morning  to  reach  Limerick  on  the  telephone. 
All  the  Limerick  shops  I  passed  were  blinded 
or  shuttered.  In  the  gray  light,  black  lines  of 

[128] 


THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  COMMUNISM 

people  moved  desolately  up  and  down,  not  al- 
lowed to  congregate  and  apparently  not  want- 
ing to  remain  in  homes  they  were  weary  of. 
A  few  candles  flickered  in  windows.  After 
leaving  my  suitcase  at  a  hotel,  I  left  for  the 
strike  headquarters.  On  my  way  I  neared  Sars- 
field  bridge.  Between  it  and  me,  there  loomed 
a  great  black  mass.  Close  to  it,  I  found  it  was 
a  tank,  stenciled  with  the  name  of  Scotch-and- 
Soda,  and  surrounded  by  massed  barbed  wire 
inside  a  wooden  fence.  On  the  bridge,  the 
guards  paraded  up  and  down  and  called  to  the 
people : 

"Step  to  the  road!" 

At  the  door  of  a  river  street  house,  I 
mounted  gritty  stone  steps.  A  red-badged  man 
opened  the  door  part  way.  As  soon  as  I  told 
him  I  was  an  American  journalist,  the  suspi- 
cious look  on  his  face  vanished.  With  much 
cordiality  he  invited  me  to  come  upstairs. 
While  he  knocked  on  a  consultation  door,  he 
bade  me  wait.  In  the  wavering  hall  light,  the 

[129] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

knots  in  the  worn  wooden  floor  threw  blots  of 
shadow.  On  an  invitation  to  come  in,  I  en- 
tered a  badly  lit  room  where  workingmen  sat 
at  a  long  black  scratched  table.  In  the  empty 
chair  at  the  end  of  the  table  opposite  the  chair- 
man, I  was  invited  to  sit  down.  As  I  asked  my 
questions,  every  head  was  turned  down  towards 
me  as  if  the  strike  committee  was  having  its 
picture  taken  and  everybody  wanted  to  get  in  it. 

"Yes,  this  is  a  soviet,"  said  John  Cronin,  the 
carpenter  who  was  father  of  the  baby  soviet. 
"Why  did  we  form  it  ?  Why  do  we  pit  people's 
rule  against  military  rule  ?  Of  course,  as  work- 
ers, we  are  against  all  military.  But  our  par- 
ticular grievance  against  the  British  military  is 
this:  when  the  town  was  unjustly  proclaimed, 
the  cordon  was  drawn  to  leave  out  a  factory 
part  of  town  that  lies  beyond  the  bridges.  We 
had  to  ask  the  soldiers  for  permits  to  earn  our 
daily  bread. 

"You  have  seen  how  we  have  thrown  the 
crank  into  production.  But  some  activities  are 

[130] 


THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  COMMUNISM 

permitted  to  continue.  Bakers  are  working 
under  our  orders.  The  kept  press  is  killed,  but 
we  have  substituted  our  own  paper."  He  held 
up  a  small  sheet  which  said  in  large  letters: 
The  Workers'  Bulletin  Issued  by  the  Limerick 
Proletariat. 

"We've  distributed  food  and  slashed  prices. 
The  farmers  send  us  their  produce.  The  food 
committee  has  been  able  to  cut  down  prices: 
eggs,  for  instance,  are  down  from  a  dollar  to 
sixty-six  cents  a  dozen  and  milk  from  fourteen 
to  six  cents  a  quart. 

"In  a  few  days  we  will  engrave  our  own 
money.  Beside  there  will  be  an  influx  of  money 
from  England.  About  half  the  workers  are 
affiliated  to  English  unions  and  entitled  to 
strike  pay.  We  have,  by  the  way,  felt  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  union  men  in  the  army  sent  to 
guard  us.  A  whole  Scotch  regiment  had  to  be 
sent  home  because  it  was  letting  workers  go 
back  and  forth  without  passes. 

"And — we  have  told  no  one  else — the  na- 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

tional  executive  council  of  the  Irish  Labor 
party  and  Trade  Union  congress  will  change  its 
headquarters  from  Dublin  to  Limerick.  Then 
if  military  rule  isn't  abrogated,  a  general  strike 
of  the  entire  country  will  be  called." 

Just  here  a  boy  with  imaginative  brown  eyes, 
who  was,  I  discovered  later,  the  editor  of  the 
Workers'  Bulletin,  said  suddenly: 

"There !  Isn't  that  enough  to  tell  the  young 
lady?  How  do  we  know  that  she  is  not  from 
Scotland  Yard?" 

In  order  to  send  my  wire  on  the  all-Ireland 
strike,  I  stumbled  along  dark  streets  till  I  came 
to  the  postoffice.  Lantern  light  was  streaming 
from  a  hatchway  open  in  the  big  iron  door  in 
the  rear.  "Who  comes?"  challenged  the 
guards.  While  I  was  giving  a  most  conversa- 
tional reply,  a  dashing  officer  ran  up  and  told 
me  the  password  to  the  night  telegraph  room. 
Streets  were  deserted  when  I  attempted  to  find 
my  way  back  to  the  hotel.  At  last  I  saw  a 
cloaked  figure  separate  itself  from  the  column 

[132] 


THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  COMMUNISM 

post  box  against  which  it  was  standing.  I 
asked  my  way  and  discovered  I  was  talking  to 
a  member  of  the  Black  Watch.  Limerick  is 
the  only  town  in  the  British  Isles  that  retains 
the  ancient  custom  of  a  civilian  night  guard. 
While  the  strike  was  on,  there  were,  during  the 
day,  600  special  Royal  Irish  constables  on 
duty  in  Limerick.  But,  at  night,  in  spite  of 
unlit  streets,  the  600  constables  gave  place  to 
the  sixty  men  of  the  Black  Watch. 

"Priests  preached  sermons  Sunday  urging 
the  people  to  withstand  the  enemy  with  the 
same  spirit  they  did  in  the  time  of  Sarsfield," 
said  young  Alphonsus  O'Mara,  the  mayor  of 
Limerick,  whom  I  met  at  breakfast.  His  £>inn 
Fein  beliefs  had  imprisoned  him  in  his  hotel, 
for  his  home  was  beyond  the  town  and  he  would 
not  ask  the  British  military  for  a  pass.  Oppo- 
site the  breakfast  room  we  could  see  the  drawn 
blue  shades  of  Limerick's  dry  goods  store.  A 
woman  staggered  by  with  a  burlap  bag  of  coal 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

on  her  shoulders.  A  donkey  cart  with  a  movie 
poster  reading :  "Working  Under  Order  of  the 
Strike  Committee:  GOD  AND  MAN,"  rolled 
past.  A  child  hugging  a  pot  of  Easter  lilies 
shuffled  by.  "There's  no  idea  that  the  people 
want  communism.  There  can't  be.  The  people 
here  are  Catholics.*' 

But  a  little  incident  of  the  strike  impressed 
me  with  the  fact  that  there  were  communists 
among  these  fervent  Catholics.  In  order  to 
pictorialize  the  predicament  of  the  Limerick 
workers  to  the  world  through  the  journalists 
who  were  gathered  in  Limerick  wraiting  the 
hoped-for  arrival  of  the  first  transatlantic 
plane,  the  national  executive  council  devised 
this  plan.  One  bright  spring  afternoon,  the 
amusement  committee  placed  poster  announce- 
ments of  a  hurling  match  that  was  to  be  held 
just  outside  of  Limerick  at  Caherdavin.  About 
one  thousand  people,  mostly  Irish  boys  and 
girls,  left  town.  At  sunset,  two  by  two,  girls 
with  yellow  primroses  at  their  waists,  and  boys 

[i34] 


THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  COMMUNISM 

with  their  hurling  sticks  in  their  hands, 
marched  down  the  white-walled  Caherdavin 
road  towards  the  bridge.  The  bridge  guard 
hooped  his  arm  towards  the  boat  house  occu- 
pied by  the  military.  Soldiers,  strapping  on 
cartridge  belts,  double-quicked  to  his  aid.  A 
machine  gun  sniffed  the  air  from  the  upper 
story  of  the  boat  house.  Scotch-and-Soda 
veered  heavily  bridgewards.  A  squad  of  fifty 
helmeted  constables  marched  to  the  bridge,  and 
marked  time.  But  the  boys  and  girls  merely 
asked  if  they  might  go  home,  and  when  they 
were  refused,  turned  about  again  and  kept  up 
a  circling  tramp,  requesting  admission.  Down 
near  the  Broken  Treaty  Stone,  in  St.  Munchin's 
Temperance  hall,  in  a  room  half-filled  with 
potatoes  and  eggs  and  milk,  women  who  were 
to  care  for  the  exiles  during  their  temporary 
banishment,  were  working.  A  few  of  the 
workers'  red-badged  guards  came  to  herald  the 
approach  of  the  workers,  and  then  sat  down  on 
a  settle  outside  the  hall. 

[1351 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

St.  Munchin's  chapel  bell  struck  the  Angelus. 
The  red-badged  guards  rose  and  blessed 
themselves. 


THE  BISHOP  ON  COMMUNISM 

Possibly,  I  thought,  the  clergymen  of  Lim- 
erick were  hurried  into  support  of  red  labor. 
What  was  the  attitude  of  those  who  had  a  per- 
spective on  the  situation  towards  communism  ? 

Just  outside  Limerick,  in  the  town  of  Ennis 
in  the  county  of  Clare — Clare  as  well  as  Kerry 
has  the  reputation  of  shooting  down  informers 
at  sight — there  dwells  the  most  loved  bishop  in 
Ireland.  The  Lenten  pastoral  of  the  Right 
Reverend  Michael  Fogarty,  bishop  of  Killaloe, 
was  so  fervently  national  that  when  it  was 
twice  mailed  to  the  Friends  of  Irish  Freedom 
in  America  it  was  twice  refused  carriage  by  the 
British  government.  There  was  no  doubt  that 
he  was  for  Sinn  Fein.  But  how  did  he  stand 
towards  labor? 

[136] 


Past  an  ancient  Norman  castle  on  which  was 
whitewashed  the  legend  "Up  De  Valera!"  into 
the  low-built  little  town  of  Ennis,  I  drove  up 
to  the  modest  colonial  home  that  is  called  the 
"episcopal  palace."  Bishop  Fogarty  invited  me 
to  take  off  my  "wet,  cold,  ugly  coat,"  and  to  sit 
at  a  linen-covered  spot  at  the  long  plush-hung 
library  table.  As  he  rang  a  bell,  he  told  me  I 
must  be  hungry  after  my  drive.  Then  a  maid 
brought  in  a  piping-hot  dinner  of  delicious 
Irish  stew.  I  sat  down  quite  frankly  hungry, 
but  from  a  rather  resentful  glance  which  the 
maid  gave  me,  I  have  since  suspicioned  that  I 
ate  the  bishop's  dinner. 

First  I  told  the  bishop  that  I  am  a  Catholic. 
Then  I  said  I  was  informed  that  there  was  a 
reaction  against  the  Church  in  Ireland,  against 
being  what  American  Protestants  call  "priest- 
ridden."  The  first  reason  of  the  reaction,  I 
was  told,  was  the  fact  that  the  people  felt  that 
the  hierarchy  was  not  in  favor  of  a  republic. 
Indeed  I  had  it  from  an  Irish-American  priest 

[i37l 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

in .  Dublin  that  many  of  the  Irish  bishops  were 
in  a  bad  way,  because  neither  the  English  gov- 
ernment nor  the  people  trusted  them. 

"Priest-ridden?"  The  bishop  smiled. 
"Priest-ridden?  England  would  like  us  to  con- 
trol these  people  for  her  today.  We  couldn't 
if  we  would.  Priest-ridden?  Perhaps  the 
other  way  about." 

The  second  reason,  it  was  said,  is  due  to  the 
fact  that  the  workers  feel  that  the  Church  is 
standing  with  the  capitalists.  A  Dublin  Cath- 
olic, wife  of  an  American  correspondent  sta- 
tioned in  that  city,  told  me  that  socialism  is  so 
strong  in  the  very  poor  parish  of  St.  Mary's 
pro-cathedral  in  Dublin  that  out  of  40,000 
members,  there  were  16,000  who  were  not  prac- 
tising their  religion. 

"A  He!"  exclaimed  the  bishop  as  his  jaw  shot 
out  and  his  great  muscular  frame  straightened 
as  if  to  meet  physical  combat  on  the  score.  "It 
is  simply  not  true.  The  loyalty  of  the  Irish  to 
the  Catholic  Church  is  unquestionable." 

[138] 


THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  COMMUNISM 

And  anyway,  he  indicated,  if  the  people  de- 
sired a  communistic  government  there  is  no 
essential  opposition  in  the  Catholic  Church. 

In  the  past,  said  the  bishop,  the  Church  in 
Ireland  had  thrived  under  common  ownership. 
When  in  the  fifth  century  Patrick  evangelized 
Ireland,  the  ancient  Irish  were  practising  a 
kind  of  socialism.  There  was  a  common  own- 
ership of  land.  Each  freeman  had  a  right  to 
use  a  certain  acreage.  But  the  land  of  every 
man,  from  the  king  down,  might  be  taken  away 
by  the  state.  There  was  an  elected  king,  and 
assemblies  of  nobles  and  freemen.  There  were 
arbitration  courts  where  the  lawgivers  decided 
on  penalties,  and  whose  decisions  were  enforced 
by  the  assemblies.  One  of  the  reasons,  the 
bishop  said,  that  England  had  found  it  difficult 
to  rule  the  Irish,  was  that  she  attempted  to 
force  a  feudal  government  on  a  socialistic 
people. 

Recently — to  illustrate  that  the  Irish  still  re- 
tain their  instinct  for  common  ownership — 

[i39l 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

there  had  been,  as  the  bishop  mentioned,  a  suc- 
cessful socialistic  experiment  in  Clare.  On 
looking  up  this  fact  at  a  later  time,  I  discovered 
that  the  experiment  had  points  of  resemblance 
to  the  ancient  state.2  In  1823  the  English  so- 
cialist, Robert  Owen,  visited  Ireland.  His  out- 
line of  the  possibilities  of  co-operation  on  social- 
istic lines  inspired  the  foundation  of  the  Hiber- 
nian Philanthropic  Society.  It  was  in  1831  that 
Arthur  Vandeleur,  one  of  the  members  of  the 
society,  decided  he  would  establish  a  socialist 
colony  on  his  estate  in  Ralahine,  Clare  county. 
A  large  tract  of  land  was  to  be  possessed  and 
developed  by  a  group  of  tenants.  This  prop- 
erty was  not,  incidentally,  a  gift,  but  was  to  be 
held  by  Mr.  Vandeleur  until  the  tenants  were 
able  to  pay  for  it.  An  elected  committee  of 
nine,  and  a  general  assembly  of  all  men  and 
women  members  of  the  society,  were  the  gov- 
ernment. The  committee's  decision  against  an 
offending  member  of  society  could  be  enforced 
or  not  by  the  members.  The  success  of  the 

[140] 


THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH  AND  COMMUNISM 

society  is  acknowledged.  Through  it  was  in- 
troduced the  first  reaping  machine  into  Ireland. 
By  it  the  condition  of  the  toiler  was  much 
raised,  and  might  have  been  more  greatly  ele- 
vated but  for  the  fact  that  the  community  had 
to  pay  a  very  heavy  annual  rental  in  kind  to 
Mr.  Vandeleur.  The  experiment  came  to  a 
premature  end,  however,  because  of  the  pass- 
ing of  the  estate  out  of  the  hands  of  Mr.  Van- 
deleur, and  the  non-recognition  of  the  right  of 
such  a  community  to  hold  a  lease  or  to  act  as 
tenants  under  the  land  laws  of  Great  Britain. 

"Why  should  there  not  be  a  modernized 
form  of  the  ancient  Gaelic  state?"  asked  the 
bishop. 

When  I  spoke  of  the  Russian  soviet,  and 
stated  that  I  heard  that  the  Roman  Catholic 
church  had  spread  in  eight  dioceses  under  the 
new  government,  the  bishop  nodded  his  head. 
The  Church,  he  said,  had  nothing  to  fear  from 
the  soviet. 

"Certainly  not  from  the  Limerick  soviet,"  I 
[141] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

suggested.     "It  was  there  that  I  saw  a  red- 
badged  guard  rise  to  say  the  Angelus." 

"Isn't  it  well,"  smiled  the  bishop,  "that  com- 
munism is  to  be  Christianized?" 


1.  Notice  was  given  by  the  General  Prison  Board  of  Ireland  on  No- 
vember 24,  1919,  that  no  prisoner  on  hunger  strike  would  obtain  release. 
It  was  stated  that  the  hunger-striker  alone  would  be  responsible  for  the 
consequences  of  his  refusal  to  take  food. 

2.  "Labour   in    Irish    History."      By   James   Connolly.      Maunsel   and 
Company.     1917.     P.  122. 


WHAT  ABOUT  BELFAST? 


VI 
WHAT  ABOUT  BELFAST? 

SICKNESS  AND  DEATH  OF  CARSONISM 

THE  H.  C.  of  L.  has  done  an  extraordinary 
thing.  It  is  the  high  cost  of  living  that  has 
caused  the  sickness  and  death  of  Carsonism. 
Carsonism  is  a  synonym  for  the  division  of  the 
Ulsterites  by  political  and  religious  cries — 
there  are  690,000  Catholics  and  888,000  non- 
Catholics.1 

The  good  work  began  during  the  war. 
Driven  by  the  war  cost  of  living,  Unionist  and 
Protestant  organized  with  Sinn  Fein  and  Cath- 
olic workers,  and  together  they  obtained  in- 
creased pay.  Now  they  no  longer  want  divi- 
sion. For  they  believe  what  the  labor  leaders 
have  long  preached :  "Carsonism  with  its  con- 
tinuance of  the  ancient  cries  of  'No  Popery!' 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

and  'No  Home  Rule !'  operates  for  the  good  of 
the  rich  mill  owners  and  against  the  good  of 
the  workers.  If  the  workers  allow  themselves 
to  be  divided  on  these  scores,  they  can  neither 
keep  a  union  to  get  better  wages  nor  elect  men 
intent  on  securing  industrial  legislation.  If 
the  workers  are  really  wise  they  will  lay  the 
Carson  ghost  by  working  with  the  south  of 
Ireland  towards  a  settlement  of  the  political 
question.  Why  not?  The  workers  of  the 
north  and  south  are  bound  by  the  tie  of  a  com- 
mon poverty." 

"All  my  life,"  said  Dawson  Gordon,  the 
Protestant  president  of  the  Irish  Textile  Feder- 
ation, as  we  talked  in  the  dark  little  union  head- 
quarters where  shawled  spinners  and  weavers 
were  coming  in  with  their  big  copper  dues,  "I 
have  heard  stories  that  were  so  much  fuel  on 
the  prejudice  pile.  When  I  was  small,  I  be- 
lieved anything  I  was  told  about  the  Catholics. 
I  remember  this  tale  that  my  mother  repeated 
to  me  as  she  said  her  grandmother  had  told  it 

[146] 


WHAT  ABOUT  BELFAST? 

to  her:  'A  neighbor  of  grandmother's  was 
alone  in  her  cabin  one  night.  There  was  a 
knock  at  the  door.  A  Catholic  woman  begged 
for  shelter.  The  neighbor  could  not  bear  to 
turn  her  back  into  the  night.  Then  as  there 
was  only  one  bed,  the  two  women  shared  it. 
Next  morning  grandmother  heard  a  moaning 
in  the  cabin.  On  entering,  she  saw  the  neigh- 
bor lying  alone  on  the  bed,  stabbed  in  the  back. 
The  neighbor's  last  words  were :  "Never  trust 
a  Catholic!"  As  I  grew  a  little  older  I  found 
two  other  Protestant  friends  whose  grand- 
mothers had  had  the  same  experience.  And 
since  I  have  been  a  labor  organizer,  I  have  run 
across  Catholics  who  told  the  same  story 
turned  about.  So  I  began  to  think  that  there 
was  a  hell  of  a  lot  of  great-grandmothers  with 
stabbed  friends — almost  too  many  for  belief. 

"But  hysterical  as  they  were,  such  stories 
served  their  purpose  of  division." 

From  a  schoolish-looking  cupboard  in  the 
back  of  the  room,  Mr.  Gordon  extracted  a 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

I 

much-thumbed  pamphlet  on  the  linen  and  jute 
industry,  published  after  extended  investiga- 
tion by  the  United  States  in  1913.  Mr.  Gor- 
don turned  to  a  certain  page,  and  pointed  a 
finger  at  a  significant  line  which  ran : 

"The  wages  of  the  linen  workers  in  Ireland 
are  the  lowest  received  in  any  mills  in  the 
United  Kingdom." 

Then  Mr.  Gordon  added: 

"Another  pre-war  report  by  Dr.  H.  W. 
Bailie,  chief  medical  officer  of  Belfast,  com- 
mented on  the  low  wage  of  the  sweated  home 
worker — the  report  has  since  been  suppressed. 
I  remember  one  woman  he  told  about.  She 
embroidered  300  dots  for  a  penny.  By  work- 
ing continuously  all  week  she  could  just  make 
$1.50.2 

"Pay's  not  the  only  thing,"  continued  Mr. 
Gordon.  "Working  condition's  another.  Go 
to  the  mills  and  see  the  wet  spinners.  The  air 
of  the  room  they  work  in  is  heavy  with  humid- 
ity. There  are  the  women,  waists  open  at  the 

[148] 


WHAT  ABOUT  BELFAST? 

throat,  sleeves  rolled  up,  hair  pulled  back  to 
prevent  the  irritation  of  loose  ends  on  damp 
skins,  bare  feet  on  the  cement  floor.  At  noon 
they  snatch  up  their  shawls  and  rush  home  for 
a  hurried  lunch.  It's  not  surprising  that  Dr. 
Bailie  reported  that  poor  working  conditions 
were  responsible  for  many  premature  births 
and  many  delicate  children.  Nor  that  the  low 
pay  of  the  workers  made  them  easy  prey  to 
tuberculosis.  He  wrote  that,  as  in  previous 
years,  consumption  was  most  prevalent  among 
the  poor.3 

"Why  such  pay  and  such  working  condi- 
tions ?"  asked  Mr.  Gordon.  "Because  before  the 
war  there  were  only  400  of  us  organized. 
Labor  organizer  after  labor  organizer  fought 
for  the  unity  of  the  working  people.  But  no 
sooner  would  such  a  speaker  rise  on  a  plat- 
form than  there  would  be  calls  from  all 
parts  of  the  house:  'Are  ye  a  Sinn  Feiner?', 
'What's  yer  religion  ?'  or  'Do  ye  vote  unionist  ?' 
There  was  no  way  out.  He  had  to  declare  him- 

[149] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

self.  Then  one  or  the  other  half  of  his  audi- 
ence would  rise  and  leave.  With  low  wages, 
of  course,  the  workers  could  not  get  a  perspec- 
tive on  their  battle.  They  were  prisoners  in 
Belfast.  They  never  had  money  enough  even 
for  the  two-hour  trip  to  Dublin.  Rail  rates  are 
high.  Excursions  almost  unknown.  Then 
came  the  war.  At  that  time  wages  were: 

"Spinners  and  preparers,  $3.00  a  week. 

"Weavers  and  winders,  $3.08  a  week. 

"General  laborers,  $4.00  a  week. 

"But  how  much  did  it  cost  to  feed  a  family 
of  five?  Seven  dollars  a  week.  The  workers 
had  to  get  the  difference.  They  couldn't  with- 
out organization.  With  hunger  at  their  heels, 
they  forgot  prejudices.  Catholics  began  to  go 
to  meetings  in  Orange  halls.  Protestants  at- 
tended similar  meetings  in  Hibernian  assembly 
rooms;  at  a  small  town  near  Belfast  there  was 
a  recent  labor  procession  in  which  one-half  of 
the  band  was  Orange  and  the  other  half  Hiber- 
nian, and  yet  there  was  perfect  harmony.  Other 

[150] 


WHAT  ABOUT  BELFAST? 

unions  than  ours  were  at  work.  For  instance, 
the  Irish  Transport  and  General  Workers' 
union  began  to  gather  men  under  the  motto 
chosen  from  one  of  Thomas  Davis'  songs : 

"  'Then  let  the  orange  lily  be  a  badge,  my 

patriot  brother, 

The  orange  for  you,  the  green  for  me,  and 
each  for  one  another/ 

"What  happened?  Take  our  union  for 
example.  From  400  in  1914,  the  member- 
ship mounted  to  40,000  in  1919— that  is  the 
number  represented  today  in  the  Irish  Textile 
Federation.  With  the  growth  in  strength  the 
federation  made  out  its  cost-of-living  budget, 
and  presented  its  case  to  the  Linen  Trade  Em- 
ployers. At  last  the  federation  succeeded  in 
obtaining  this  rate: 

"Spinners  and  preparers,  $7.50  a  week. 

"Weavers  and  winders,  $7.50  a  week. 

"General  laborers,  $10.00  a  .week." 
[151] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

But,  say  the  leaders,  there  will  always  be 
chance  of  disunion  until  the  political  question 
is  settled.  Ulster  labor  decided  to  assist  in 
that  settlement.  So  it  killed  Carsonism.  And 
now  it  is  trying  to  lay  the  Carsonistic  ghost. 

This  is  the  way  labor  killed  Carsonism.  I 
saw  it  done.  I  was  in  at  the  death.  There  was  a 
parliamentary  seat  vacant  in  East  Antrim.  Car- 
son, whose  choice  had  hitherto  been  law,  backed 
a  Canadian  named  Major  Moore.  But  labor 
put  up  a  sort  of  Bull  Moose  candidate  named 
Hanna.  The  Carsonists  realized  the  issue. 
During  the  campaign  they  reiterated  that  Car- 
sonism was  to  live  or  die  by  that  vote.  The 
dodgers  for  Major  Moore  ran: 

East  Antrim  Election 

WHAT 
The  Enemies  of  Unionism 

WANT 

The  Return  of  Hanna 
WHY? 

[152] 


WHAT  ABOUT  BELFAST? 

Because  as  The  Freeman's  Journal  of  May  10, 
1919,  states: 

"IF  HANNA  WINS,  HIS  VICTORY  WILL 

BE  THE  DEATH  KNELL  OF 

CARSONISM." 

Are  YOU  going  to  be  the  one  to  bring  this 

about  ? 
VOTE  SOLID  FOR  MOORE 

and  show  our  enemies 
EAST  ANTRIM  STANDS   BY  CARSON 

At  the  meetings  the  Carsonists  continually 
stressed  the  point  that  this  election  meant  more 
than  the  election  or  defeat  of  Moore.  It  meant 
the  election  or  defeat  of  Carson  and  his  ally, 
God. 

"God  in  His  goodness/'  declared  a  woman 
advocate  at  a  meeting  held  for  Moore  at  Car- 
rickfergus,  "has  spared  Sir  Edward  Carson  to 
us,  but  the  day  may  come  when  we  will  see 

[i53l 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

ourselves  without  him,  and  I  want  to  be  sure 
that  no  one  in  Ulster  will  have  caused  him  one 

•  JJ4 

pain  or  sorrow. 

"It  is  owing  to  Sir  Edward  Carson  under 
Almighty  God,"  stated  D.  M.  Wilson,  K.  C, 
M.  P.,  at  a  meeting  at  Whitehead,  "that  we 
have  been  saved  from  Home  Rule,  and  the  man 
that  knows  these  things  would  rather  that  his 
right  arm  were  paralyzed  than  be  guilty  of 
any  act  that  would  tend  to  weaken  the  work 
of  Sir  Edward  Carson/'5 

"I  am  fully  persuaded,"  added  William 
Coote,  M.  P.,  at  the  same  meeting,  "that  the 
great  country  of  the  gun  running  will  never  be 
false  to  its  great  leader."6 

One  evening  near  a  stuccoed  golf  club  at  a 
cross  roads  in  Upper  Green  Isle,  with  the  v  of 
the  Belfast  Lough  shining  in  the  distance,  I 
waited  to  hear  Major  Moore  address  a  crowd 
of  workers.  As  the  buzzing  little  audience 
gathered,  boys  climbed  up  telegraph  poles  with 
the  stickers  "We  Want  Hanna,"  and  a  small, 

[154] 


WHAT  ABOUT  BELFAST? 

pale-faced  man  with  a  protruding  jaw  was  the 
center  of  a  political  argument  for  Hanna.  At 
last  the  brake  arrived.  The  major,  a  tall,  per- 
sonable man,  stood  up  in  the  cart.  But  all  the 
good  old  Ulster  rallying  cries  he  used,  seemed 
to  miss  fire. 

"Sir  Edward  Carson's  for  me — " 
"Stand  on  your  own  feet,  Major  Muir,"  in- 
terrupted a  worker. 

"Heart  and  soul,  1*11  fight  Home  Rule—" 
"What  aboot  Canada,  Major  Muir?"  The 
major  did  not  reply  as  he  had  at  a  previous 
meeting  at  Carrickfergus  that  he  hoped  that 
the  time  would  come  when  there  would  be  a 
"truly  imperial  parliament  in  London — one 
that  would  represent  not  only  the  three  king- 
doms but  the  whole  empire."7  Instead  he  went 
on: 

"The  Unionist  party  stands  for  improved  so- 
cial legislation." 

"What  aboot  old  age  pensions?"  and  "Why 
didn't  the  Unionist  party  vote  for  working- 
men's  compensation,  Major  Muir?" 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

As  he  was  preparing  to  drive  away  from 
the  booing  crowd,  one  of  his  supporters  began 
to  distribute  dodgers.  I  had  two  in  my  hand 
when  the  small,  pale-faced  man  with  the  jaw 
applied  a  match  to  them,  and  cried  out  as  they 
flared  in  my  hand: 

"That's  what  we  do  with  trash." 

Who  won?  When  the  election  returns  were 
made  public  in  June,  they  read :  Major  Moore, 
7,549;  Hanna,  8,714. 

Laying  the  ghost  of  Carsonism  by  the  per- 
manent settlement  of  the  Irish  political  ques- 
tion was  attempted  last  spring.  It  was  then 
that  Ulster  labor  backed  the  rest  of  the  Irish 
Labor  party  at  Berne  when  it  asked  for  the 
"free  and  absolute  self-determination  of  each 
and  every  people  in  choosing  the  sovereignty 
under  which  they  shall  live." 

THE    SINN    FEIN    BABY    IN    BELFAST 

The  pacific  endeavors  of  the  high  cost  of 
living  are  greatly  aided  by  the  natural  kindli- 

[156] 


WHAT  ABOUT  B  ELF  AST  f 

ness  of  the  people.  I  think  I  have  never  met 
simpler  charity  to  strangers.  For  instance,  in 
the  little  matter  of  appealing  for  street  direc- 
tions, I  found  the  shawled  women  and  the  pale 
men  would  go  far  out  of  their  ways  to  put  me 
on  the  right  path.  Even  when  I  inquired  for 
the  home  of  Dennis  McCullough,  they  looked 
at  me  quickly,  said:  "Oh,  you  mean  the  big 
Sinn  Feiner"?  and  readily  directed  me  to  his 
home. 

In  the  red  brick  home  in  the  red  brick  row 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  red  brick  town  of  Bel- 
fast, Mrs.  Dennis  McCullough,  daughter  of 
the  south  of  Ireland,  gave  testimony  that  the 
goodheartedness  of  her  neighbors  prevails 
over  their  prejudice  even  in  time  of  crisis.  Her 
husband,  a  piano  merchant,  has  been  in  some 
seven  prisons  for  his  political  activities.  He 
had  told  of  plank  beds,  of  food  he  could  not 
eat,  of  the  quelling  of  prison  outbreaks  by  hos- 
ing the  prisoners  and  then  letting  them  lie  in 
their  wet  clothes  on  cold  floors.  He  had  spoken 

[i57] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

of  evading  prison  at  one  time  by  availing  him- 
self of  the  ancient  privilege  of  "taking  sanctu- 
ary" :  he  went  to  the  famous  pilgrimage  center 
of  Lough  Derg,  and  though  no  sanctuary  law 
prevails,  the  military  did  not  care  or  dare  to 
violate  the  religious  feelings  of  the  inhabitants 
by  seizing  him  there.  And  then  he  had  told  of 
the  last  time :  before  his  last  arrest  he  had  taken 
great  care  not  to  provoke  the  authorities  be- 
cause Mrs.  McCullough  was  about  to  give  birth 
to  her  first  child;  but  one  evening  when  the 
couple  and  friends  were  seated  about  a  quiet 
Sunday  evening  tea  table,  six  constables  en- 
tered and  hurried  him  off  to  jail  without  even 
presenting  a  warrant.  It  was  at  this  point  that 
Mrs.  McCullough  gave  her  testimony: 

"Our  house  is  just  a  little  island  of  Sinn  Fein 
in  this  district.  The  neighbors  knew  my  hus- 
band had  been  arrested.  The  papers  told  them 
that  the  arrests  had  been  made  in  connection 
with  that  Jules  Verne  German  submarine  plot. 
But  when  my  baby  was  born,  my  neighbors 

[158] 


WHAT  ABOUT  BELFAST? 

forgot  everything  but  the  fact  that  I  was  a 
human  being  who  needed  help.  One  neighbor 
came  in  to  bake  my  bread ;  another  to  sweep  my 
house;  another  to  cook  my  meals.  They  were 
very  good. 

"Often  at  five  o'clock,  I  watch  the  girls  com- 
ing home  from  the  mills.  At  six  o'clock  they 
eat  supper.  At  seven  the  boys  and  girls  walk 
out  together,  two  by  two."  Mrs.  McCullough 
laughed.  "You  know,  I  think  that's  all  I  have 
against  the  Ulsterites — there's  nothing  queer 
about  them." 

By  the  grate,  Dennis  McCullough  held  the 
baby  in  his  arms  with  all  the  care  one  uses 
towards  a  treasure  long  withheld.  His  drawn 
white  face  was  close  to  the  dimpled  cheeks. 

The  rank  and  file  of  the  Belfastians,  then, 
are  joining  the  priests,  co-operationists,  labor 
unionists  and  Sinn  Feiners  in  their  fight  for 
self-determination.  For  it  is  believed  that  as 
long  as  the  Irish  people,  Irish  or  Scotch-Irish, 
remain  under  the  domination  of  England,  they 

[159] 


WHAT'S  THE  MATTER  WITH  IRELAND? 

will  continue  to  suffer  under  exploitation  by 
her  capitalists.  And  the  people  of  the  north 
and  the  south  are  unanimous  that  English  ex- 
ploitation is  what's  the  matter  with  Ireland. 

1. Census  of   1911. 

2.  England  passed  an  order  in   1919  regulating  the  wages  of  sweated 
women  workers  so  that  the  minimum  wage  of  a  girl  18  working  a  48- 
hour  week  amounts  to   $6.72.       But  the  order  concludes:      "This  order 
shall  have  effect  in   all  districts  of  Great  Britain  but  not   in  Ireland." 
(Ministry  of  Labor.     Statutory  Rules  and  Orders.     1919.     No.  357.) 

3.  "Report  Chief  Medical  Inspector,  Belfast,    1909." 

4.  Belfast  Telegraph,  May   IS,   1919. 

5.  Northern   Whig,  Belfast,   May    17.   1919. 

6.  Ibid. 

7.  Belfast  Telegraph,  May  15,  1919. 


[160] 


NEW    AND    RECENT    BOOKS 

IS  IRELAND  DRIFTING  TO  ANARCHY? 

— as  the  papers  would  have  us  belieye 

Do  you  want  to  know  Ireland  as  she  really  is — and  as 
she  will  be — perhaps  in  the  near  future? 

READ 

The  Invincible  Irish 

BY  J.  C.  WALSH 

Mr.  Walsh  is  a  life-time  student  of  Ireland  and  the  Irish 

He  got  his  information  in  Ireland — not  in  an  easy 

chair  thousands  of  miles  away.    Just  the  kind  of 

a  book  that  you  will  read  often  and  commend 

to  your  non-Irish  friends — and  enemies. 

THE  INVINCIBLE  IRISH  has  as  an  appendix  the  really 
remarkable  speech  of  the  Hon.  Martin  Conboy — IRELAND'S 
RIGHT  TO  FREEDOM— delivered  at  the  dinner  of  the  Friendly 
Sons  of  St.  Patrick,  New  York.  This  speech  will  instruct  and 
inspire  the  student,  will  inform  and  interest  the  prejudiced,  and 
will  be  read  and  quoted  as  long  as.  people  read  and  speak  good 
English. 

Price  $1.50.     Postpaid  $1.60 

THE    DEVIN-ADAIR     COMPANY 

425  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York 


NEW    AND    RECENT    BOOKS 

France  may  be  the  World's  Sweetheart — but 

IRELAND  IS  THE  BEAU  OF  HUMANITY 

Read  WHY  GOD  LOVES  THE  IRISH— then  you 
will  love  them,  too. 

No  Politics!  No  Abuse!  No  Bitterness!  Just  God's  ou'n  men 
and  women  at  their  lovable  best.  You  will  see  why,  unth 
half  a  chance,  they  go  to  the  front  in  all  walks  of  life — the  spirit, 
the  force  of  manhood  (inspired  and  fostered  by  a  womanhood  of 
supernal  purity}  that  sends  thousands  of  the  blood  to  all  parts  of 
the  globe  to  work,  fight  and  die  for  the  oppressed,  the  enslaved — 
for  God  and  country.  If  Irish,  it  will  make  you  a  still  better 
American.  If  not  Irish,  you'll  wish  you  had  at  least  one  Celtic 
corpuscle,  that  you  too  might  flaunt  it  as  a  silkless  emerald — the 
rarest  of  precious,  brilliants. 

WHY 
GOD  LOVES  THE  IRISH 

By  HUMPHREY  J.  DESMOND,  LL.D. 

With  a  strong  Foreword  by  Joseph  I.  C.  Clarke,  President- 
General  of  the  American-Irish  Historical  Society,  and  a 
really  delightful  Appreciation  by  Dr.  Maurice  Francis 
Egan,   ex-Minister  to  Denmark. 

"The  Sun,"  "The  Tribune"  and  "The  Evening  Post"  are 
foremost  authorities  on  literature.  All  three  praise  Mr.  Des- 
mond's book  in  a  key  high  as  a  Meiba  note,  but  at  length  too 
great  to  quote  here. 

NOTE:—Th<>  demand  for  "WHY  GOD  LOVES  THE 
IRISH"  obliges  us  to  print  edition  after  edition. 

Price  $1.35.  Postpaid  $1.45 

THE  DEVIN-ADAIR  COMPANY,  Publisher 


NEW    AND    RECENT     BOOKS 

"Histories   make   men    vr5*e"—  Bacon 

The     Best-Written,     Fairest-Minded     and     Moat     Comprehensive 
Account  of  the  Rebellion,  Its  History,  Cause*  and  Leaders 

Completely    Documented—  CaJmly  and    Dispassionately  Written 

by   Men   and   Women  Intimate   with   Irish.  Affairs,  and  Friends 

or  Comrades  of  the  Dead  Patriots 

The  Irish  Rebellion  of  1916 

And   Its   Martyrs  —  Erin's   Tragic    Easter 

(46  Illustrations  and  Map  of  Dublin) 

By  Padraic  Coium,  James  Reidy,  Rev.  T.  Gavati  Duffy, 
Seumas  O'Brien,  Maurice  Joy,  Sidney  Gifford,  Mary 
Colum  and  Mary  Ryan. 

The  "New  York  Evening  Post,"  the       "The  Boston  Post": 

%$S  »?KZ  ^  AA%$Z.      ''Th?hbookh  is  <r  vincinS'-  beeM-e 

SJIff'  "*e  authors  have  been  so  dtspassion- 

"The  most  graphic  account  of  the  fte-    The  impression  left  by  the  book 

conflict.             *      •      Its   analysis   of  is  a  haunting  one,  the  revelation  of 

the  Sinn  Fein  movement  and  of  the  a    tragedy    that    the    reader    cannot 

aspirations  and  problems  of  present-  erase  easiiy  from  h;9  m;n'd>     No  UQ_ 


H 

dispassionate   and    illuminating,    and  volume  and  doobt  the  sincerity,  the 

its     characterization     of     men     and  passionate   devotion  to   Ireland,   and 

events,  despite  the  very  evident  emo-  the  eager  desire  to  free  Ireland,  that 

tion  which  inspires  its  writers,  has  a  animated  the  men  and  women  who 

moderation  and  open-mindedaess  that  planned  the  outbreak." 
make  of  their  chronicle  history." 

The  Irish  Rebellion  of  1016  and  Its  Martyrs—  Erin's  Tragic 
Easter  is  not  a  mere  story  book—  the  glueose  of  literature.  It 
Is  History,  real  History,  but  so  brilliantly  penned  —  anecdotal 
too—  -that  It  has  all  the  compelling;  charm  of  a  classic  novel. 
Written  by  men  and  •women  of  Ireland,  scholars  all,  who  know 
how  to  write  correct,  graceful  English,  this  book  will  ever 
appeal  to  all  students  of  History  as  well  as  to  the  casual  reader 
of  the  best  in  literature.  Each  author  •was  selected  for  •what 
he  or  she  could  do  best,  given  a  free  pen  to  write  from  heart 
and  mind  —  the  result,  a  concerted  whole  ns  superior  to  one- 
man  authorship  as  a  symphony  orchestra  tm  to  a  lone  fiddler. 

NOTE:  —  Be  sure  that  the  book  you  get  bears  The  Devin- 
Adair  imprint  —  it  is  the  only  History  that  is  illustrated  and 
that  contains  a  map  of  Dublin. 

Price,  $3.00 

THE  DEVIN-ADAIR  COMPANY,  Publishers 


"Has  the  stage,  the  so-called  artistic  temperament, 
or  advanced  feminism  ever  yet  given  to  any  man  a 
wife— to  any  child  a  mother — to  either  husband  or 
child  a  home?"  "Are  the  exceptions  so  rare  that  they 
only  emphasize  the  rule?" 

A 

FAR  AWAY 
PRINCESS 

By 
CHRISTIAN  REID 


By 
CHRISTIAN  REID 


Price  $1.75  net    $1.85  postpaid       Price  $1.75  net    $1.85  postpaid 

These  two  books  of  the  stage  and  the  home  are  unquestionably 
the  best  works  of  Christian  Reid,  who  has  done  more  to  make 
virtue  interesting,  as  well  as  charming,  than  any  Author 
that  ever  livecL  Her  graceful,  limpid  English  might  well  be 
used  as  a  model  for  aspiring  writers.  She  doesn't  depend  for 
inspiration  upon  a  health-destroying  cocktail,  a  cigarette  and  a 
muse  perched  no  higher  than  a  smoke-bowl. 

Her  English  is  better  than  Balzac's  French,  and  she  is  worth 
a  forest  of  his  understudy  authors,  whose  sex-inspired  lures 
smother  the  flaunted  moral. 

Read  Christian  Reid  and  be  impefled  to  commend  her  to  those 
you  lov» — sach  books  tend  to  make  you  an  open  book  to  you 
and  yours. 

If  you  doebt  the  merits  of  A  DAUGHTER  OF  A  STAR  and 
A  FAR  AWAY  PRINCESS— «et  them  at  the  library— then 
you  will  want  to  own  them.  A  book  not  worth  owning  is  not 
worth  reading.  The  Devin-Adair  Company  will  deliver  to  any 
part  of  the  world  and  refund  if  dissatisfied. 

"Critic*  praiM  poet*  and  novelist*  that  as«  marked  artistic 
skill  on  foul  material;  but,  if  you  cut  open  a  goat  and  find 
his  interior  stuffed  with  rosebuds,  i«  the  beast  any  the  less  a 
goat?"  From  KEYSTONES  OF  THOUGHT,  by  Austin 
O'Malley,  the  world's  master  of  aphoristic  thought  and  ex- 
pression, who  says  of  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  A  STAR  and 
A  FAR  AWAY  PRINCESS:  "I  like  these  book*.  They  are 
Excellent  exanplas  of  how  to  be  interesting  though  clean." 

THE  DEVIN-ADAIR  COMPANY,  Publishers 

NEW  YORK 


Jfrom  tfje 

lUbrarp  of 

Hots; 
Cool 


000  164251 


